Bruce found his bench had been claimed by a derelict twice his size. He shrugged it off. That’s what he got for stopping at the soup kitchen first.
It had been the first time in almost a year he’d opted for a belly full of food over the cheapest liquor he could buy. Bruce didn’t regret his choice, even after seeing his bed had been taken.
He fished through the garbage until he felt he had an adequate amount of newspapers to keep him warm for the night, discarding the obituaries and sports sections, selecting the business section as much as he could. These were going to do more than keep him warm. In the morning, when he’d have enough light to read, he’d use them to stay informed.
Bruce found it hard to settle down for the night. Maybe it was because he hadn’t consumed half a bottle to help zonk him out. He suspected it was because he was brimming with optimism.
Life, more accurately, those Moore bastards, had really dealt him a vicious haymaker. He’d had a promising future all mapped out for himself, and they’d stripped everything away from him.
Almost everything.
Today, he’d discovered something in himself he’d thought he’d lost. Pride. Dignity. That bulldog determination that made him Hadley’s problem solver, and convinced him he was the prince of the financial district. From now on, every day he woke up, he was going to remind himself that the Moores may have ruined his life, but he was still here, still that guy who could solve any problem that came his way, whereas those two fuckfaces had been dead for almost two years now.
Bruce surveyed the park from his vantage point on the ground underneath one of the maple trees. It wasn’t much, but it’d be a start.
I’m strong. I’m a survivor. I’m the world’s greatest problem solver.
The problem before him today, and tomorrow, until he solved it, was how to get back on his feet, get a job, and get a change of address.
He had ten dollars to his name, and he was determined to make that last as long as he could. His goal for tomorrow was going to be finding a way to trim his raggedy beard. There would be no more wallowing in self-pity, no more accepting his status as a bum. After that, he would start collecting enough bottles and cans to afford a meal at the end of the day. With the weather improving, more people in the financial district would take their lunches outside. It wouldn’t take too long with a little hustle to earn a couple dollars.
The following day, he’d be out there even sooner, and his goal would be to earn enough for a meal and have some extra change left over. He’d keep up the routine until he could afford to go to the dollar store and buy a cheap toy wagon, so he could haul even more bottles and cans around. In the mornings, he’d read the business and real estate sections, looking for opportunities. He’d go to the library and set up an e-mail account. When he had enough money, he’d open up a bank account, and then head to a brokerage firm and open up an investing account. There were opportunities everywhere, you just had to know where to look and have the determination to see a plan through.
Bruce wanted to fall asleep so he could get an early start to tomorrow, but couldn’t bring himself to shut his eyes. He was smiling nonetheless. His eyes drifted to the pond, where the ducks were nestled besides each other along the shore.
He wasn’t the prince anymore, but right now, being the Duke of Ducks didn’t sound so bad.
The thought comforted him, and finally got his eyes to grow heavy. He drifted off picturing himself at the precipice of a new empire, incapable of failure.