Rounding the corner, he could see the bench he had sat on that first night. As he watched, he saw a bum with two-day stubble and brownish stained clothes sit down on the bench. The same bum that had given him the penny? Maybe, he thought, though he wasn't sure.
Pete thought it best to avoid the bum altogether. He wanted nothing to do with any more bums and shiny pennies. But, as he walked, staggering and stumbling, he reached out and grabbed the bench for support. Barely missing the top rung, his palm caught and a bright coppery penny fell out and into the paper cup sitting on the bench next to the bum.
"Hey, buddy, you okay?" the homeless man asked, as he turned, and looked into the cup.
"Not really," Pete mumbled, not able to say much else.
"I don't know what to do," the bum said. "I sure wish there was somebody here to help."
Just then, an ambulance and a police car pulled up, and Pete could swear he heard some tinkling. Both Pete and the bum looked up.
"Pennies," Pete said, "How many?"
"What's that about pennies?" the bum asked.
"How many?" Pete asked again. "How many are in the cup?"
"One. You dropped one penny into it, see?" he said, holding out the cup, and looking into it. "Hey, there was only one. before. Now there's two."
Pete closed his eyes. At least the pennies weren't his problem anymore, but he should do something to warn the bum. Pete's first impulse was to give the bum the old cliche about being careful what you wished for, but he stopped himself. He was the last person to be giving advice on that subject. Instead, he said the only thing he could think of. "Good luck, buddy," was all he could manage before passing out.
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