Tom was walking through the downtown district on his way home from work. The sun was setting behind the rows of glass towers, casting long shadows across the sidewalk. As he passed a quiet bench tucked between a boarded-up storefront and a vacant café, he noticed a man bundled in layers of worn clothing, holding a paperback book.

  Tom slowed down, hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded bill. The man looked up, and Tom handed it to him with a quiet, "Here. For dinner."

  The man accepted it with a nod. "Thanks."

  Tom lingered, eyeing the book in his hands. "What are you reading?"

  "Case law," the man replied with a faint smile. "From my university days. I wanted to be a lawyer."

  Tom raised an eyebrow. "You studied law?"

  "Yeah. Graduated. But that was before junior roles got squeezed out. Now the basic paperwork is handled by AI. And nobody wants a lawyer without years of billable hours behind them."

  Tom sat down slowly. "That’s rough. But hey, maybe there’s still a way back."

  The man shrugged. "Maybe. But I’ve stopped thinking in terms of what's fair. Fairness doesn’t pay."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Tom frowned. "That’s a bleak way to look at the world."

  "Is it?" the man said. "Look around. It often feels like we only build hospitals when it makes financial sense. And in some places, if you can’t pay, you’re sent home—ready or not. Not because anyone wants that, but because care without compensation is hard to justify.

  It’s similar with child labor in developing countries. We've been "fighting" it for decades, yet it still exists—maybe because, in a harsh sense, it’s cheaper. And sometimes, even the efforts to fight it generate their own industries—campaigns, reports, oversight roles.

  Then, we say we care about the elderly too, but when pension systems get stretched, retirement ages quietly shift upward. Not to be cruel, just to make the math work. But it all adds up to the same feeling: that what's humane only happens when it aligns with what’s profitable."

  Tom leaned forward. "But that's not people. People don’t want that."

  "No," the man agreed. "People are good. It’s the system that makes them choose profit over kindness."

  Tom shook his head. "Still. That doesn’t mean it has to be this way."

  "No," the man repeated, softer now. "It doesn’t. But right now, it this way."

  Tom looked out at the skyline. Billboards lit up with investment ads, new condos, luxury watches. A world calibrated to reward what was profitable—even when it punished what was human.

  He felt a wave of sympathy. The guy was sharp, thoughtful—someone who had clearly tried. For a moment, Tom considered offering him a spot at his own company. Maybe not as a lawyer, but something. The man would probably welcome any kind of work. But then the numbers came to mind—budgets, cash flow, projections. Hiring wasn’t profitable right now. So Tom said nothing.