Seeing Is Believing
Charles Flint was man of high stature, at lest in his world. People rarely saw things his way. The brighter side was the only side worth seeing to him. Getting by off of disability checks and what ever the bitter streets of New York offered up. He made his way around with his red tipped feeling stick and dark shades. Often called by many titles, but only answered to "Blind Hustler". His sight was gone, but never his will to survive.
Almost daily he would travel for miles often ending up in a different place of the city. Everywhere someone new would greet him with "How's it hangin' slim?" or "What's the word on the dirty bird?" He was defiantly a flash from the past. The streets use to be familiar place, but in this ever-changing world, Hustler found it hard keeping up. He always had a to find a new angle just to make it.
It was a hot and humid day in China Town when Hustler was strolling through. He stuck out on the cramped and crowded streets, like a sore thumb. No kind words that day. The expletives showered down like rain on a tin roof. Sure the words make a lot of noise, but his skin was no doubt thick from all that he had been through in his life. What nerve this large black man had, whirling around his stick without a care. Crashing in to anything that had the displeasure of crossing his path.
Never having a plan, this was just another adventure. Anything was better than sitting at home and feeling sorry for himself. Passing by a small fish market he paused and took a deep whiff. Instantly he bellowed out "Good afternoon Ladies."
Behind the counter a young...