Satan was a bit disappointed. He had decided to redecorate his flat and had figured that a new lamp should certainly be easy enough to find at the annual Wilson Street Charity Sale. There were a couple of hundred yards of junk of all sorts tastefully displayed down Wilson Street today. But no lamps.
He was about to head back home, lampless, when he noticed, a few yards beyond some ultimate refrigerators, a bum sitting down on the pavement, leaning against a bulky plastic bag and holding a small cardboard sign. Upon closer inspection, Satan saw that the homeless man was also part of the charity salesmen. Being homeless, he had been the first to show up, at the crack of dawn, for the sale: a good spot could be helpful. But the charity sale’s organizers had seen fit to relegate him to the extreme limits of the sales grounds. The man’s sign read “Soul For Sale”.
“What are you askin’ for it?” asked Satan.
“I want a simple shelter and to never again be hungry,” stated the man.
“That’s a bit vague. How much?” insisted Satan.
The homeless man had been a math teacher until his drinking problem had cost him his job, his family, his home; he had lost “everything”. But he still had his soul and a plastic bag full of junk, and he was still pretty good with figures. “I figure it comes out to about $67,000,” answered the man.
Satan let out a short, flame-colored laugh. “Sixty-seven G’s - you must be nuts!”
“It’s still in good shape - I mean… I haven’t sinned much.”
“Wake up, dude! Souls are a dime a dozen, these days.” Satan scratched his goatee and offered: “Tell ya what - I’ll give you a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich - with extra bacon - for your soul. And I’ll throw in a large can of Bud with it… Waddya say?”
The homeless man considered the proposition for a minute. He was hungry and no one else today had made him an offer. And he loved BLT’s. But something inside him unexplainably made him feel that his soul was worth more. “Nope. Sorry - that’s not enough,” he answered, hungry but steadfast and proud of his almost-sinless soul.
“Well screw you, then, buddy,” retorted Satan. “I was just trying to help you out with a sandwich - more than these other cheap bastards here have offered, I’d guess. I have more than enough souls to play with already. I was just walking around here, trying to find a lamp for my flat - not looking for another worthless soul.”
The homeless man’s eyes lit up slightly. “A lamp? I found one this morning… wait a second.” He looked into his plastic bag and pulled out a small but very decorative lamp that someone had thrown away.
The size was perfect - not too big, not too small - and it would no doubt fit harmoniously with the new color scheme of Satan’s living room. It was exactly what Satan was looking for. “Now THAT’S more like it,” he exclaimed. “How much?”
The homeless man gave it some thought and announced: “$67,000.”
“It’s a deal!” answered Satan, as he reached for his wallet.