CORNER STREET
A mob masses at a side street. Something which they hear intrigue them so. It rises above their routine bustling hassle. A booming invitation from a corner street salesman who hones his pitch to perfection. He nets commuters with his velvet lure of promise… for a fee. Wielding his selling lines like a coveted bauble while he tugs with his words. Those touched by his pitch tow along like an entourage of mice, latching on to the Pied Piper. The horde crane their necks for a ring side view , stretch limbs to advance nearer and strain sight for a close up. He stands high , above all heads , on a concrete pulpit and proceeds to wean all to his prescription. He proclaims "For a fee, the majority will attain a share of a rare minority". 8>)