"What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence."
Chuck paused and looked over towards the source of the sound. It was that fool of Russian, Dmitri, from down the hall, and he was feeding that damn homeless man with hat again. Dmitri was simple, and simple was Dmitri's saving grace; if not for his appearance of idiocy, he would almost surely be considered a pervert for his attachment to animals.
Neither Dmitri nor the homeless prophet concerned Chuck much, so he continued onward.
Then suddenly, he was on the steps of the church. It was 9 AM and the man was there, in the 4th row as he said he would be. The man was short and squat. His features were forgettable, but his somber expression was enough to piece the soul. It was the only visible sign of his infamous iron will.
The man turned his head slightly, so that Chuck could make out one glowering eye against the glare of the morning sun in his face. "Sit." Chuck sat. "Today is the day," the man said. "Seize it if you can." He handed Chuck a sealed manila envelope. "This," he said, "is your way out. Open it, and you will lose everything. Good day." Then he left without another word.
Chuck remembered what the homeless man had said earlier, "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." What will come? What did it mean?
Chuck ran to find the homeless man who had first uttered the saying. He sat there against the wall, just as before, bowl outstretched. "Spare some change?"
Chuck reached into his pocket, but found none. "I have none, but earlier I was walking past and you said something to that russian fool. You said, 'What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence.' what did you mean when you said that?"
The man Froze for an instant, as if from a seisure, then extended his hand. "Spare some change?"
"Don't try my patience. I asked you a Question."
The man looked off in the distance, then smirked and repeated, "Spare some change." Then he laughed.
Chuck's eyes narrowed as he realized he could not have his way. He spat at the beggar, who had since shifted his attention to a more profitable audience.
Chuck paused and looked over towards the source of the sound. It was that fool of Russian, Dmitri, from down the hall, and he was feeding that damn homeless man with hat again. Dmitri was simple, and simple was Dmitri's saving grace; if not for his appearance of idiocy, he would almost surely be considered a pervert for his attachment to animals.
Neither Dmitri nor the homeless prophet concerned Chuck much, so he continued onward.
Then suddenly, he was on the steps of the church. It was 9 AM and the man was there, in the 4th row as he said he would be. The man was short and squat. His features were forgettable, but his somber expression was enough to piece the soul. It was the only visible sign of his infamous iron will.
The man turned his head slightly, so that Chuck could make out one glowering eye against the glare of the morning sun in his face. "Sit." Chuck sat. "Today is the day," the man said. "Seize it if you can." He handed Chuck a sealed manila envelope. "This," he said, "is your way out. Open it, and you will lose everything. Good day." Then he left without another word.
Chuck remembered what the homeless man had said earlier, "What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence." What will come? What did it mean?
Chuck ran to find the homeless man who had first uttered the saying. He sat there against the wall, just as before, bowl outstretched. "Spare some change?"
Chuck reached into his pocket, but found none. "I have none, but earlier I was walking past and you said something to that russian fool. You said, 'What will come will come. Even if I shroud it all in silence.' what did you mean when you said that?"
The man Froze for an instant, as if from a seisure, then extended his hand. "Spare some change?"
"Don't try my patience. I asked you a Question."
The man looked off in the distance, then smirked and repeated, "Spare some change." Then he laughed.
Chuck's eyes narrowed as he realized he could not have his way. He spat at the beggar, who had since shifted his attention to a more profitable audience.
