Done with Begging

The stout old Indian-Malay beggar in his sixties turned to some gainful employment in recent time. Bicycle procured from somewhere, decent set of wheels, loaded up this morning with cardboard on the rear carrier that protruded a metre either side. Small stack like that not going to fetch more than a few pence, perhaps only recently embarked on the day's scavenge. A few months ago the man's usual routine had been playing dead along the paths here, up past the Changi Road lights under the trees where passersby needed to step round him splayed out just like in the Splatter flicks. Coming upon him unexpectedly one often passed in such shock there was no chance to reach into the pocket. A few times the same routine outside the Converts, where on one occasion he continued lying through steady rain. In the last weeks of that performance the chap would sometimes stare up at his fellows with a look of bewilderment seemingly unable to uncomprehend the heartless disregard. A distinct change: more than once he has been spied now sitting at table with a plate before him.