I am here at work, a used-books store, and there are two college-aged hippies on the bench in front of our window (see picture #3), each with a guitar, a cigarette, an ugly hat, and a distorted sense of reality.
I typed up the letter seen in picture #1, printed it (#2), and then waited for my boss to leave before I went outside to put it in their opened guitar case. As my boss was leaving the store, however, the two got up off the bench and started walking down the sidewalk.
“Crap,” said I. I crossed out the first P.S. and put a checkmark after it, then folded the paper up.
I left the store and caught up with them at the end of the block. I said, “Hey, you guys were in front of the bookstore, right?”
“Yeah,” said one.
“Well, I don’t have any money I can give [lie], but I work at the bookstore, so here’s a coupon. Hopefully you like books.”
The guy I handed it too shrugged and sincerely said, “Hey, cool, we love books!”
In that instant I felt a twinge of guilt. But then, after I said bye, the second guy held up his fingers to form the shape of a “V” and said, I kid you not, “Peace, man.” And the guilt went right out the window.