Squatting at a tiny square space between a travel agency and a high-end shop on 15th Street in downtown Washington DC, sat a man two names: William and Mark.
I asked him why he had two names, he mumbled some words like “for business’ sake.”
“What kind of business?” I asked.
He showed me several different cards, other people’s cards, which I don’t understand. Then he showed me an American Express Credit Card. It was obviously not his, and possibly an expired or discarded card.
“What do you do for a living?” I asked, knowing this is a very naive question.
“I don’t have money,” he said. “I have no money,” he repeated.
“Why are you here? Do you live here?”
“No, I don’t live here,” he said. Then he added, “I am here … because the travel agency is here.”