Change in Your Pockets (Journal 10)

“A writer should know how much change a character has in his pockets.” ~James Joyce

Jingle.  Jingle.  The cheerful sound belied his stormy brow.  Eyes squinted, paltry defense against the brutal morning light, he strode purposelessly across the browning grasses of the common.  His intent glare made passersby believe he was following some internal compass; however, looks can certainly be deceiving.  Like Richard Cory, emotions and conundrums broiled beneath the well-coiffed surface.  Jingle.  Shoving a chapped hand into his pocket, its fit tight like a glove, he sought to stop the music.  Refusing to be cheered even by the sad notes that thirty-seven cents could offer, he clenched the coins in his fist until the flesh of his palms began to resemble our first president's noble visage.  Pausing only at the intersection's insistence, he continued, his long legs making the distance between pavement creases disappear quickly.  Where was he going?  A quarter and a few dimes and pennies would not take him very far.  He just kept moving in a way that let other fellows on the sidewalk believe he had a destination in mind, an important place to be.  His lips curled at his own trickery.