Homeless Clay Evander sat on the corner near the local Starbucks, gazing at the dull New York City sidewalk. His head leaned against the cool metal of his musty shopping cart. Clay’s brown eyes were jittery and restless. He barely blinked. Clay brought his grungy jacket closer to his bones. His rotten teeth chattered from the frigid air. As Clay scratched his unkempt beard, he felt a pang of hunger. He got up, slowly, aching from his archaic hip bones, and began to stride towards a reeking trash can. Rummaging through the garbage, Clay began to whistle through his corroded teeth. It was an old tune from a commercial that he used to hear as a young boy. The melody was simple and staccato, consisting of six different musical notes. The lyrics were almost inscribed inside his mind, “It’s my money, and I need it now.” The melody triggered clear memories that flooded into Clay’s head.
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