In the Morning Hour

Chapter I - The High Priestess

It is said that those who wake up in the morning go far. But Maxim hated mornings. More rest means more productivity. And he was preparing for the most important day of his career. It was the day eagerly anticipated by the ambitious corporatist, also marking his promotion if everything went according to plan. 

He had already imagined the reactions of his colleagues watching the unscrupulous presentation he was about to give. The nonchalance with which he will accept the boss's promotion, followed by flattering praise. How will he then celebrate the success by inviting all the members of the corporation to a luxurious meal. He had a tendency to celebrate positive events in life by giving lavish feasts. As many people as possible had to witness his success. Once it is all said and done, he might as well think of a speech that would stir people's emotions, he thought. He just had to pull through.

That morning, however, his car happened to have a flat tire. Maxim wasn't much of a religious man, but he made sure to take all the names of the saints he knew in order, cursing. 'The wheel is simply an impediment.' He reassured himself. It was already late, and the current situation made his temples hurt. At any time, he could call a taxi or, at worst, catch the bus, hastening. In principle, however, he did not agree with ride-hailing. 'They are all thieves.' The driver would definitely try to rob him of his money, seeing the "prestigious way" in which he is dressed. 'Naturally, people are more inclined to take from the haves than the have-nots,' and Maxim had no intention of giving money to taxi drivers. For the first time in a while, he was being forced to bend his principles and engage in physical effort. The man tied the laces of his shoes, bought especially for the occasion, arranged his pearl cotton jacket, adjusted the knot of his checkered tie, and hurried towards the bus stop, his last option.

Public transportation was seen as a constraint by Maxim. Not only did he find it humiliating to ride the bus, which was crowded and jostled by superficial passengers, but even more humiliating was the discrepancy between the car, the clothes he owned, and the bus ride itself. People would make of him a con man, a scoundrel who spent his money on expensive goods while having to frequent the bus; he was sure of that. Sick panting could be heard from such a rush, clearly indicative of a man's not being in the best physical condition. It started to rain. And as the water leaked through his dolled-up suit, ruining it, the positivism of the past also leaked out simultaneously.

When Maxim arrived at the station, the bus had just filled itself with passengers and departed the place immediately, leaving mud and dust behind. Despite his redundant effort, the close-to-fainting marketing man now found himself having to wait for the next bus and, possibly, clean up the ruined suit up to his knees due to the bus' departure. At least the rain had stopped.

It was not his best day. Frustration almost brought him to the verge of tears, restrained only by the looks of passersby. It's not as if there was any crowd at the bus stop anyway; at least that's what he was getting on with. Other than Maxim, there was a street person who seemed to have set his sights on him. The man stood up from the coin box into which passersby would throw one penny at a time, two at a time, here and there, approaching, crawling with his left foot.

'Stay away!' Ran through Maxim's mind.

"I have nothing to offer you. I'm afraid you're reaching out in vain." He frowned without looking down. The man didn't even get to say a word or make a gesture.

"The way you look, I wouldn't have forced myself to deject you even more." A hoarse, sickly voice answered him.

Has the cur ever glanced at himself in the mirror? Having the nerve to make such remarks about him? A beggar like him? Maxim scrutinized the man in front from head to toe for a second and found nothing but contempt in him. A face full of allergies, a bushy yellowish beard, and not to mention the broken leg. Dressed in clothes that once might have attracted glances, but now could not be called more than "rags". Has Maxim become so degraded that even a degenerate like this one would recognize it?