She stood on the second floor balcony, watching the foot traffic shuffle along ignorant of her. She winked at me and showed me a handful of loose gemstones. She flung them into the crowd and was rewarded with expletives for her generosity.
The crowd was angry she didn’t throw the plastic beads they came to the city for. They wanted the souvenirs stamped with the year and the festival’s name. They wanted the cheap and the tacky. They ground the gemstones under their heel.
“Why do you continue if you are abused for your efforts?” As I asked, I saw a tourist look down and cry out at spying a gem. Quickly he sifted through the dirt, the piss, and the uncaring feet to collect as many as he could. “Because of people like him?”
She laughed at me. “No. Because I want to.”
“But they don’t care.”
“They take what they want. What I lose in a moment I can replenish in the next.”
“They don’t want what you have.”
“They don’t want what you have, either. Yet you still do it just the same.”
I turned away from her, red faced, angry, and ashamed. “Some lies are easier to tell myself than others.”
“And which lie chokes you this time?”
“That it matters.”