The two figures in hoodies sat down on the curb outside the convenience store, far enough from the automatic door to avoid setting it off, but close enough to mooch off the light filtering through the gaps between the signs and flyers taped to the glass. They clinked the bottoms of their cheap soda cans and took the longest sip of their lives.
"What a hassle."
"Yeah."
They slipped their backpacks off, dropping them unceremoniously on the asphalt. The taller one pulled at the topmost zipper while the shorter one opened one front clasp, then the other, before pulling back the flap. The two of them looked inside their respective bags, as if to make sure the last few hours hadn't been a figment of their imagination, then shared a sidelong glance. With a nod, each tilted their cheap backpack toward the other, like one would a black leather briefcase containing something priceless.
"So that's your pillow?"
"Yeah."
"Stitching's all over the place, but at least yours looks soft." The taller one snorted. "Mine's so lumpy it feels like she filled it with old sneakers."
The shorter one gave the contents of the other bag a second look. "Yeah."
They sat in silence. Took another sip of their drinks. The taller one tugged at an errant hoodie pull string so it was even with the other; the shorter one dug some lint out of the left front pocket, then the right. They nodded, more to themselves than to each other, staring at their hard-earned bounty. The priceless treasure that had only come at the end of so much stressing, chasing, and last-second dealing.
"Can't believe she took it all. A whole summer's work, pfft, gone. You said she only asked for what, a month's allowance out of you?"
"Yeah."
"Why's your soul so much cheaper than mine?" The taller one grumbled. "What a scammer."
The shorter one shrugged.
"Anyway. What'd she say? Sleep on it every night for a week, and we get it back?"
The shorter looked at the bag again. Flipped the flap shut, then clicked the two clasps into place. "Yeah."
The two of them stood up, clinking their soda cans together one last time, the last drops of sugar water making the hollow metal sing a slightly different tune. They shared a last sip, then threw the cans toward the bin by the convenience store wall.
A basket and a noisy miss. Final score: one to nothing.
The taller one looked over to the other. Details so easily lost in the scuffle were starting to emerge now that there was room to breathe, and time to think. Raw knees, speckled with dried blood; three bruises in the making; a ripped sleeve that now almost matched the other.
"Hey, uh—" A motorcycle drove past, engine roaring. Somewhere, a light turned on. It was getting late. "Thanks again."
"Yeah."
They bumped fists. Picked their backpacks up, contents safe within. Two weeks left to the summer; one week to make it count. They lifted their bags up to the light. Could you truly put a price on the priceless?
Someone had. A summer of labor. A month of indulgence. All the same to one who had no attachment to it. The seamstress had wrung a good living out of those who were blissfully unable to tell priceless from worthless, whereas she had figured out long ago that they were just two sides of the same coin. All that mattered what was people were willing to pay.
Following that logic, if you found the right buyer, you could come out ahead.
Play your cards right, and you could become richer than you could ever imagine without spending a dime.
"See you in a week."
"Yeah."
The figures in hoodies exchanged backpacks, then went their separate ways.
