Stopping by a clothing shop window on one of the streets downtown, Rick started eyeing the mannequins placed behind the glass, one after another–thin female figures with their hands frozen in graceful gestures. And here's that coat: long, brown, with three large round buttons and a wide belt. How much is it? A thousand bucks, no less. Rick's last girlfriend used to glance at this coat with admiration every so often, until he decided that they shouldn't walk on this street anymore.

She’s read too many fairytales when she was a little girl, he thought grimly. She thinks that men get their money just magically. Sorry, babe, but my magic wand has a different function!

Rick smirked and shrugged from cold. November was coming, wind was getting stronger, and yesterday’s weather forecast even promised snow tomorrow. The sky above was looking gray and unfriendly.

He crossed the street at the intersection leaving the shop window behind and rushed ahead along the sidewalk, glancing occasionally at his reflection in the glass, which was on his right at the moment. There were premium bed linen stores, luxury perfumeries, hairdressers, beauty salons and other places favored by wealthy people who drive around in their Lexuses.

Do I really look that bad? said Rick to himself. Even if my clothes are not worth an arm and a leg, so what? Does that really mean I’m not worthy of love then? Like these sons of bitches from expensive colleges deserve the happiness that they got out of the blue. Why the hell are they better than me?

He scratched his unshaven cheek and turned at the next intersection. The cold sun was breaking through the clouds, and its cold rays were shining straight into his face until he got to the other side of the road. Among the cars that stopped at the traffic light, he naturally spotted a brand new black Mercedes, and a bit further away–a perfectly polished Audi.

That must be nice to make a move on a girl with that kind of car…

He imagined himself behind the steering wheel. He didn’t have a driver’s license, he never had one, but it didn’t stop him from daydreaming.

…wearing a custom-tailored suit and shirt worth five-hundred bucks, radiant white.

He turned left at the corner of the street, and his eyes immediately went up, along a dark tall building, headquarters of some big successful company. He got mesmerized by a large screen placed between 10th and 12th floor. There was a face of a handsome man, stretched almost to its full length, looking down on the street. He was clean-shaved, with perfectly combed hair beaming with infinite self-confidence, and well-known to many people in the city. Rick recognized him too, but the name escaped him. He saw this guy on TV quite often, he knew it was some rich dick.

Fuck, there’s hell of a lot of them. And the main thing is, where do they get the money? Is it distributed somewhere? If so, when will it be my turn to have some?

Lips tight, Rick tore his eyes away from the screen and stumbled onto a girl, who had her eyes buried in her smartphone, almost knocking her over. She gasped softly, more out of surprise–she was wearing such a thick silver fur-coat, that she could hardly have felt any pain. How old is she? Somewhere at the back of his mind Rick had the time to check out her pretty little face, but his defense mechanism which he developed over months had already started rolling. He knit his brow in anger, muttered something obscenely rude, and walked away from her at a rattling pace. The girl took an airpod out of her left ear, then stared at him for a few moments, puzzled, and moved on with a sorry look on her face.

‘Crap!’ growled out Rick when he was already about twenty paces away, not sure whether he was angry at himself, the girl, or the situation.

Then he glanced at the face of the ‘successful man’ on the screen above him again and asked himself: ‘What the hell?’

WHAT THE FREAKING HELL?!

Rick took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together, then decided to head home. He would turn at the nearest intersection and take a bus at the first bus stop. That was enough walking for one day, enough of these never-ending triggers, twisting the knife in him.

And why do I keep coming here? Rick asked himself, shaking his head. This district is not for people like me, why am I so drawn to it?

He stopped, looking at his shoes.

You look at me as if I have no right to be in this place, that's why I come here. To spoil your lovely view from the window.

Turning back to the road, Rick looked at the café across the street. ‘Gandhi’, read a small sign above the glass door. It looked like a decent place, just like any other nearby. But there seemed to be almost no one inside. Clenching his fists in his pockets, Rick looked around and ran insolently across the road, making some show-off on a BMW slam on the brakes and lean out of the window, spitting and swearing.

Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.

He stopped at the doorstep. Just then, the door opened and a visitor came out of the café. The smell of fresh, hot coffee wafted over Rick. He noticed a handbag in the visitor's hand and felt his heart sink. He didn't know much about handbags, of course, but even the sight of it was enough to tell him that he couldn't afford that place.

He felt his courage leaking away.

No! he thought instantly. I want to see your eyes widen when I pay for your fucking coffee!

In his mind he feverishly began to calculate a modest fortune he had put in his inner pocket. He didn't want to take out the change and do it in front of everyone, so it took him some time, and as a result, he still didn't know the exact amount. But he decided there was no way he could have less than eight bucks on him. This should be enough for a cup of coffee, whatever it costs… It couldn’t be all eighty, after all!

Rick came in. The café greeted him with warmth and coziness. He started feeling uncomfortable the moment he entered, because warm and cozy places are for men from the screen and women with handbags worth a month's rent of his housing. Warmth and coziness cost money, and a great deal of money, as well as love and affection from women.

Just one coffee, he thought, and that's it.

Then he looked around the room, which was obviously decorated by some fashionable expensive designer, walked past several tables to the very corner and sat down by the window. Soon the waitress came up to him. She was a very young girl–a blonde with clear blue eyes. She placed the menu in front of him.

‘I’ll have a cup of coffee for starters,’ he said, not even knowing the price. It would had been awkward for him to look for it on the menu in front of her, it had been awkward for him from the moment he stepped inside, but now there was nowhere to go.

What a stupid idea! he thought, flipping through the menu. He was angry at himself. Here’s the coffee, right on the last page. Four ninety-nine a cup. Four ninety-nine and she didn't even smile at me! Well, of course, they don’t even consider it money.

Rick let out a sigh in despair. The waitress came back and put a tiny cup with the damned black liquid in front of him.

‘Have you chosen anything?’ she asked, taking out a notebook and a pen.

‘No, thanks, just coffee for me,’ said Rick, not looking at the girl.

She nodded and left without saying a word.

You wouldn’t get a word out of them for my measly four ninety-nine, Rick thought.

He exhaled noisily and peered into the cup. The coffee looked good. There were two lumps of sugar on the left side of the saucer, and a silver spoon on the right.

Perhaps they even spitted there?

Rick grinned and looked at the waitress. At the moment she was giving someone a bill. It was a solid-looking, elderly man and he had a brown leather briefcase on the floor by the table. The blonde girl was smiling at him. Perhaps he came here often, and they knew each other.

You'd probably be happy to give him a blowjob if he ordered it. Right here, under the table. First, you'd write it down in your notebook, and then you’d get down to business. You can do anything for money, right? That's all you need, isn't it? You fucking whore!

Pushing the cup away, Rick covered his face with his hands for a few moments, and then he looked out the window. People, people, people passing by. They keep going back and forth. They’re all busy, they’ve got things to do; and they all bury their faces in expensive smartphones worth a thousand bucks! Even though everything they need from their devices could easily be done with the use of some cheap Chinese gadget only worth a hundred dollars.

Ninety-nine, Rick corrected himself. We live in a world divided by capitalist corporations, they never say that something costs a hundred dollars. They say it’s ninety-nine, nine hundred and ninety-nine, nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine…

He buried his face in his hands again.

‘God, how I hate all of you,’ he whispered, ‘I FUCKING hate all of you!’

Fingers clenched at his temples; Rick tried to control his anger. Right now, he wanted to get up, grab his hot coffee that he got for four-ninety-nine dollars, and throw it in the face of that haughty waitress, or in the face of that old balding dick.

Why am I worse? WHY AM I WORSE?! I just never had a chance, I didn't have rich parents, I didn't have any friends in high places… I didn't go to a prestigious college. But they were just lucky, they WERE JUST LUCKY.

His head was beginning to ache.

Without money, a girl won't even smile at me. It's like we're not human anymore… As if hormones, chemistry starts working only with the use of pocket lettuce and social status, and not by the look of one eye in another.

But that's not how it should be. It shouldn't be like this at all.

‘Excuse me.’

Rick looked up and stared blankly at the man standing in front of him.

‘Excuse me,’ he repeated, ‘may I sit with you?’

It was that old balding dick. Had she given him head already?

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

‘Yeah,’ Rick muttered, frowning, and straightened up.

The old man put his briefcase next to the table and sat down on the opposite side. Rick pulled his coffee toward him and looked at the man carefully. A few wrinkles crossed the old man's face, but they were not very deep, so he was not as old as he seemed at first glance. His small gray eyes were literally beaming, and there was a friendly smile on his lips.

Rick cleared his throat and with a hostile note in his voice he said:

‘But I don't have anything to treat you, sorry.’

‘Don't worry about it. I've already had a bite to eat,’ the old man immediately fussed. ‘Actually, I have an important question to ask you.’

‘Me? A question?’ Rick was surprised. ‘Are you sure you're not mistaken?’

‘No, no,’ the old man shook his head vigorously and leaned forward a little, so that Rick would be the only person to hear him. ‘You see, I am... very well aware of your difficulties, so to speak.’

Rick was taken aback for a few moments. He stared at the old man for a second, then glanced at the waitress over his shoulder, at the street–no, no one seemed to be filming him, although you couldn't see the professionals that easily–and then back at the old man. He kept silent, watching the guy's reaction. He looked like the man from the screen that was hanging on the building nearby. Not the face, of course, no–they were definitely two different people–but the expression of the face. Despite the obvious benevolence of this old man, there was a sense of confidence and authority in him. And not even judging by the clothes, it was obvious that he was sitting on a huge pile of money. This was hardly a cheap prank and he doubted that a cameraman would jump out from under the table, poking the camera in his face.

‘So what's the matter?’ asked Rick, his whole body got tense. Although, truth to tell, he hadn't relaxed since the moment he saw the man standing in front of him.

‘I want to help,’ he said simply.

Rick said nothing.

No, it seems to be some kind of joke after all. And, a very wicked joke!

Rick's thoughts must have been reflected on his face, because the next moment, the old man suddenly spread his arms wide, as if opening up, and said:

‘It's okay, I'm your friend.’

‘Heck,’ Rick said sharply, ‘we don't even know each other.’ He shook his head. ‘Besides, people like you don’t make friends with people like me.’

‘Why is that?’ The old man leaned back. His eyebrows were raised high. ‘Aren't you worthy of friendship?’

‘What are you on about?!’ Rick was getting angry. ‘Are you trying to make fun of me?!’

The old man's smile returned for just one brief moment, then he raised his hand in a conciliatory gesture and began to soothe his heated companion.

‘Hush, hush, I'm not making fun of you,’ he said, ‘and I’m not messing with you. I’m sorry if this is what you thought. I really want to offer you some financial assistance.’

Rick looked around the room again, this time peering into every corner he could see, the chandeliers, the flower pots, the framed black-and-white photographs that were hung on the walls. Maybe it's being filmed through the window of a store across the street, or from a car parked on the other side of the curb?

‘Do you have some job to offer?’ Rick asked, looking the old man straight in the eye. Small, wide-set, but kind-looking, they were endearing, even though the guy resisted it.

‘Not really,’ said the old man, looking away for a moment, ‘I want to buy something from you.’

‘What?’ asked Rick right away. ‘How do you know I have it?’

The old man smiled mysteriously.

‘I can tell just by looking at you’.

‘All right,’ Rick's nostrils flared angrily, ‘I'm not going to put up with this.’

The guy got up from the table abruptly, leaving his coffee untouched, and walked away, straight to the exit.

‘Rick, wait!’ the old man called.

This old prick even found out my name! the guy thought, not turning around. He probably paid someone a tidy sum to dig up some info about me. And I didn't even get any interest!

‘Wait,’ the old man repeated, ‘look in the back pocket of your jeans’.

Reaching for the door handle, Rick automatically slapped the back pocket, then put his hand in it and... felt something that hadn't been there before. He froze, took a rustling green piece of paper folded in half from his pocket, and unfolded it.

A hundred bucks.

Not just ninety-nine, but a hundred, a real one.

What are these tricks? Rick looked from the bill to the old man, who motioned for him to come back.

The guy looked at the waitress, who was watching him in bewilderment, and then returned to his table.

‘When... when did you do it?’ he asked, still standing.

‘Do what?’

The old man smiled.

‘Don't mess with my head,’ Rick started up again, ‘when did you manage to put this inside my pocket?!’

‘I only need a second for this,’ the old man said and snapped the fingers of his left hand. ‘That's it.’

‘Look,’ Rick said, ‘I'm going to break your nose if you don't tell me right now what's going on and what you want from me!’

‘Then sit,’ the old man nodded at the chair opposite, ‘and simmer down’.

With an effort, Rick obeyed. He still held the bill in his right hand, which he now kept above the table.

‘By the way, I just snapped my fingers a second time,’ said the old man, looking out of the window. ‘You should check your other pocket’.

Without saying a word, Rick reached for the second pocket and sat up a little to put his fingers in it. There was another bill inside. It was another hundred bucks, crisp, almost not crumpled.

Probably he put it in with the first one. I should have checked the other pocket right away, thought Rick.

The old man continued to stare out of the window silence.

Rick couldn't help but ask him:

‘And what did you buy from me?’

‘Nothing yet,’ his companion immediately became lively. ‘I need your consent for this. And this is... consider it as payment for your time spent on me.’

Rick carefully examined the money. No, it doesn't look fake. He nodded and put the banknote in the inside pocket of his jacket.

‘How do you know my name?’ asked Rick. ‘Who sold you the information? That whore Megan?’

‘No,’ the old man shook his head, ‘the whore Megan has nothing to do with it. If you don't mind, I don't want to disclose my sources.’

He smiled.

‘All right, let's get down to business,’ Rick said, softening a little as a couple of hundred bucks warmed him up through his pocket. ‘I really don't have much time.’

‘Of course,’ the old man nodded, in a businesslike manner, ‘It’s high time’.

He paused for a moment, then continued.

‘Like I said, I want to buy something from you. And I know you have it. I can see it right now. And I'm not referring to your clothes, to your appearance. You shouldn’t have taken a grudge on me, since this is not what I was talking about, Rick.’

The guy shifted uncomfortably. He looked at the old man's face, so open and honest at that moment that it was impossible not to believe him. However, he tore his gaze away from it, not allowing himself to be hypnotized.

Is this some kind of special plastic surgery available only to the rich?

‘So what is it?’ the guy asked.

‘I'll tell you,’ the old man said, and there was a sudden note of embarrassment in his voice, ‘but promise me you won't get up and leave right away. What you will hear is not very usual, but I will speak absolutely seriously, and I will be ready to give the real money for it. Those two hundred should convince you that I'm ready to pay.’

Rick thought for a moment, then nodded.

I think this old man is a bit nuts. Maybe I can get more than a couple hundred out of him.

The old man put his hands on the table. He clasped his fingers together and gently stroked the protruding veins. It seemed he was delaying what he was about to say.

But then, suddenly, he said:

‘I need the last day of your life.’

‘What?’ Rick asked immediately.

‘You heard right,’ said the old man, ‘I want to buy the last day of your life from you. Tell me the amount, we'll sign the papers and the job will be done.’

‘Are you serious?’ Rick looked around. No, there was no cameraman.

‘Yes’.

The guy licked his dry lips.

‘If I hadn't promised, I would have gotten up and left right now,’ he said, and exhaled. ‘What does that mean after all?’

‘It means that you will simply die exactly twenty-four hours ahead of your due date, that's all.’ The old man waved his hand vaguely. ‘And no one knows when you're supposed to be there. How old are you now, twenty-five?’

Rick nodded.

‘You are still very young,’ the old man continued with a certain envy in his voice, ‘and being young goes well with being rich. Perhaps it is worth sacrificing one day for it. That's not much compared to a whole lifetime. Especially a life filled with working days, which take up most of the time. You know, by agreeing to this deal, you may even extend your life in a way’.

Bingo. He's not himself. Must have forgotten to take his meds last night.

‘Yes,’ Rick agreed, ‘you could sacrifice a couple of days for that. And how much will you give me?’

‘I told you,’ the old man waved his hand again, ‘tell me the amount.’

‘A thousand bucks!’ said Rick abruptly.

‘All right,’ the old man nodded.

‘Ten thousand!’

‘I agree to this,’ the old man smiled.

‘A hundred thousand dollars!’ Rick said, almost out of breath.

‘I'll give you a hundred thousand dollars, Rick.’

‘You're crazy,’ the guy laughed, too. ‘Are you serious?! No, you're crazy! You won't pay me a hundred thousand dollars.’

The old man suddenly raised his left hand and snapped his fingers. Then he snapped again, and then again–three times in total.

Suddenly, Rick felt something pressing against his chest from the side of his heart.

‘Check the pocket of your jacket,’ the old man said cheerfully.

Rick shoved his hand into his inside pocket, and the smile faded from his face. He was slowly running his fingers over something that had definitely not been there before. It looked like a thick stack of notes. Rick didn't even doubt what it was. He pulled back the edge of his jacket and pocket and peered inside.

‘It's an advance,’ the old man said, ‘and it's exactly half the amount. You’ll get the second half after signing the papers.’

Rick didn't say anything. He wrapped his fingers around a thick wad of bills and, looking around sharply, half-took it out of his pocket to get a better look.

Is there fifty thousand here?! I've got fifty thousand in my pocket right now?!

He glared at the old man.

‘Are you... the devil?’ he asked in all seriousness.

In all seriousness the old man replied:

‘No’.

Then, a little impatiently, he added:

‘Shall we finally sign the papers?’

‘Huh?’ Rick tore his eyes away from the money. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘All right,’ the old man smiled–this time in a somewhat formal way–and then took just one sheet of paper and a pen from the briefcase and pushed them toward the guy. ‘You don't have to read through all of it, the bottom line is that you will die exactly twenty-four hours earlier than you were meant to. And it doesn't matter what it was supposed to be caused by–illness, old age, accident. It's just going to happen a day earlier. There’s no catch, pitfalls, no conditions in the small print.

Rick nodded. Then, with a trembling hand, he grasped the pen and wrote his signature on the sheet of paper just five or six lines long. It wasn't very smooth, but the old man didn't mind–he took the paper and the pen and put them back in his briefcase. Then he looked at the guy and snapped his magic fingers three more times.

‘The remainder,’ he explained. ‘The second half.’

At that moment, Rick felt another thick wad of money grow in the second inner pocket of the jacket. He didn't even check, he knew it was there. He knew that he now had a hundred thousand dollars in cash, or rather, a hundred thousand two hundred... how much did he have to pay for the coffee?

Rick was silent for a moment. He was shocked by what had happened.

Then he asked, rather pointlessly:

‘What now?’

‘Now,’ said the old man, ‘I must go.’

He got to his feet and picked up his briefcase. Rick stood up, too, to show respect to his benefactor.

‘What will you spend the money on?’ the old man asked before leaving, glancing at the guy with a sly look on his face. ‘If it's not a secret.’

A shiny Audi? A custom-made suit? A radiant white shirt? A million smiles from a million girls. Now each of them will try to get him into bed, now everything will be different, yes.

Rick looked at the blue-eyed waitress.

‘Maybe I'll fly to Hawaii,’ he said with a shrug.

‘A good use for money,’ the old man agreed, and left the table. ‘Well, it was nice doing business with you’.

They shook hands, and then the old man turned and headed for the exit.

Rick stood there until he was out on the street. As soon as the door was closed, he sat down, flipped through the menu, and called the waitress without thinking twice.

‘I want to make an order,’ he said, and the blonde girl smiled uncertainly.

Rick stayed in the cafe for another hour or so. With a tidy sum in his pocket, it seemed that all the warmth and coziness of this place were made just for him. He asked for the bill when it was getting dark outside.

‘I'm sorry, I can't,’ the waitress replied, moving her eyebrows prettily at his suggestion that they spend some time together after work, and twirled the ring on her middle finger with her thumb.

Too bad. Well, I don't care. I'll have so many girls like you…

He paid with a hundred-dollar bill and left her about sixty dollar tip, then put on the jacket that had been lying on his lap since the old man left, and quietly took the money from the inner pockets and put it to the outer ones, so that he could keep them in his hands all the time. At the exit, he glanced at the waitress again and smiled at her. She smiled back at him shyly and he was happy with it, then he pushed open the door and went out into the street.

God, the air is so good! Even the cruel autumn wind does not bite the rich man so much. Rick took a deep breath, stretched, and looked at the screen, which still showed the face of the ‘successful man’.

Now it's my turn, he thought, breaking into a blissful smile, and began to cross the road.

And the next moment, the taxi driver, who got distracted by a text message, ran into a pedestrian, who, apparently, was up in the clouds. The brakes roared and someone screamed, but it was too late. The impact was so strong that all the contents of the jacket, including the money that he just got, flew out of the pockets. The passers-by and bystanders gathered around watched with mixed feelings as the banknotes from the bundles got scattered and carried away along the sidewalks, driven by the wind.

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