He swiftly took the sealed envelope handed over to him and made his way to the line.
“Show me your ID and sign over here”, the lady with a wrinkled face and sad lips spoke without looking at his face.
“Precinct No. 1”
He knows the drill. He took the secrecy folder and snatched a black pen.
Seated on the old wooden arm-chair, he slowly shifted to take a better look of the envelope. A small, bold number was written on the upper left. “14”
Sealed in that envelope was a 100 peso bill. Enough to sustain his family’s needs for the day.
It is done.
Papers are scattered on the streets like leaves during fall. Gone were the loud jingles, gone were the shirts with faces of smiling monkeys. Gone were the free water bottles with slogans. All there is left are laughing lions, sitting comfortably in their den, waiting for the proclamation of their next reign. The clowns are grinning again, ready to show you the trick which has been laid down to you over and over; those bargained manipulative promises.
Was he entertained? Did he get what they paid him for?
In response to the Daily Prompt.