Down across the gravel street, nestled underneath the thin, ivory branches of the aspen trees lies a bearded man with a blanket of old newspapers. He had been living there for several months now, relying on the scraps of rotting leftovers and the generosity of random strangers to get by. Occasionally he'd earn just enough to treat himself to one of Old Grannie's infamous meat pies down the road. He'd stroll in with his big black coat and thick, tousled beard holding five gold coins on one hand and a cheery spirit on the other.
It was just one fine afternoon when he was devouring one of Old Grannie's Meat Pie Surprise that he first heard the little boy crying out from inside the orphanage.
At first he thought that there was an accident, a maltreatment of some sort. Gossip says those nuns have more freedom behind those stone walls than God forbid. And who can blame them? Those kids were rumoured to be pretty rowdy. He frowned, chewed the mystery meat pie a few more times, then moved closer towards the orphanage to get a better view.
Usually, he wasn't a nosy man. He kept to his business, as long as people kept to theirs. Though he wouldn't turn down a chat or two with a few good men. The homeless life can be pretty lonely after all. But generally, he made sure to keep well enough away.
But for the first time he felt the stirrings of an unknown something tingle behind that scraggly beard of his. Maybe it was the little boy? The desperate cry for help that drew him to feel a sense of.... some might say a sense of justice. Or maybe the mystery meat pie wasn't the bargain deal that he thought it was going to be.
The homeless man waved those thoughts away, and slipped underneath the shade of the overgrown orange trees to get a better view.
"---And Flynn Rider jumped! He felt the arrows whi-- i mean whizz--past the uhh socks of his foot as he flew on into the night!"
He sighed in relief. It was just a boy re-enacting one of the exciting scenes from that book of his. It seems he managed to gather quite an audience, despite that atrocious reading skills of his. The little children circled around him like crow, wide-eyed and enchanted by the twinkle in his eye and the shine of his footsteps.
"But the brothers weren't done yet--- because deep within the forest they laid a trap. A trap so clever---"
This time he was attempting to re-enact the muscular physique of one of the bad guys. He heard a roar of laughter as the boy strolled across the porch with his chest puffed out and his skinny stick arms bent over in wide arcs on his sides. He was like the sun, bright and blazing, ensnaring the children around him with his burning presence. He made them laugh with a turn of a page, he made them jump, he made them feel fear. The boy was a talent, and the homeless man could feel himself getting pulled in by his gravity. Soon enough, he would be orbiting around him like the little children on the porch.
Unfortunately for him, the nuns were too.
"What are you doing here? Who are you?" One of the nuns crowed. She leered at him behind her spectacles like . "This isn't one of your soup kitchens we don't have food for your people here, shoo!"
"I-I was just--"
"Shoo!" she cried, waving her hands violently. "Go away!"
At last the magic had ended. Cut off and dissipating between the nun's wild, flailing arms. The children stared at the stranger instead and watched as he straightened the cuffs of his coat and disappeared off underneath the shadows of the afternoon.
That was a good show, the man thought as he, once again, laid on his newspaper blankets underneath the ivory branches of the old, aspen trees. He wondered about the story he heard, the Flynn Rider with his quick feet and daring escapades.
'What a life that man must lead.' He sighed as he nibbled around another batch of rotting, yellowing apples.
And oh, how he wishes that was his.
