I stared at the pigeons on the floor pecking away and threw some more seeds at them. Everyday I did this. Wake up in the morning, go to the park, find a nice unoccupied bench away from people where I can park my cart and just do absolutely nothing.

I dug into that bag of seeds and grunted in discontent when I found nothing, so I got up and began ruffling through the shit that I accumulated in my cart after nearly a year. Rags, bags, empty cans, magazines, papers—you name it. But only thing that I apparently did not have at the moment was a bag of seeds.

Digging deep into my pockets, I pulled out some spare change and counted how much I had at the moment.

$3.77.

A little more than enough to buy a packet of seeds from the convience store. At the time, I didn't know what made me buy a packet of seeds with the little money I had—which I should saved up for something more important and necessary—but I knew that I had to buy them.

So I went.

Pushing my cart along the streets of San Francisco, I mumbled to myself about nothing and everything, daydreaming about what was and wasn't, what could've been and isn't. When I reached proximity of the store, I slowed down and parked my cart along side the stores window. Next to where I parked, I spotted a woman. She was dirty and surrounded by junk, similar to myself, although I was much younger that she.

She looked up and gave me a yellow-toothed smile. "Hey, girlie. You buying another packet of seeds again? You're going to fatten up all the birds of San Fran."

I gave a half-hearted smile. "That's the plan, Maria."

Quickly, I went inside, keeping my head down and going to the chip section that I visited once a week. As I set the seeds on the counter to be rung up by the Asian lady, who I surprisingly never caught the name of, a ringing of the bell near the door sounded and heavy footsteps walked across the shop. The second I looked up, a rugged looking man passed me.

He wore a leather jacket, jeans, and boots. He looked really tough too, I noticed. Not someone I wanted to be associated with, but for some reason piqued a hint of interest in me. The bad boy vibe was pretty cool, but it made me infinitely more weary than curious.

We caught eyes but I quickly looked down and continued to count my change. Just the act of holding eye contact made me jolt and my heart beat a little faster.

Strangers were strange.

The Asian Lady scanned the item and I gave her the money. Before she could ask if I wanted the receipt, I grabbed the packet and hightailed out of the place.

Before I could get to my cart, Maria stood up. "Hey, girl. Wait. I need to tell you something."

At this I stopped and waited. She never stopped me to chat before, so I wondered what she wanted to say.

She coughed into her fist—there was a cold going around in the streets—and began, "There's been news of some people going around talking to homeless. They say that they're gonna give five hundred bucks to people who are willing to do some experiment with them. They also say they're not doing anything about drugs or any of that weird shit. All you have to do is sign up, do some check ups with them, and if your picked, you get to do whatever it is they want and then get that five hundred dollars."

I gave her a squinted look, highly suspicious. "That doesn't sound right. Thanks but I don't th—"

She cut me off. "Wait, wait. I know it doesn't sound good, but they're legit. They're Life Foundation, you know. Those people tried to find the cure to cancer. Try to save lives and shit. You can trust them."

Now that was a much more convincing argument. If they the organization that I read about in a scientific magazine that I found on the floor one day, then consider me signed up. Of course I would trust people who found a gene that would increase the life expectancy up to 3 times for people with cancer.

"You have a place where I can go to sign up or something?" I asked her.

She nodded, and passed me an already dirtied card. "Yeah, but maybe try giving them a call. I don't know what would happen if you go into their building looking like that."

I looked down at my appearance and sniffed. I didn't look too bad compared to the other homeless people around.

"Okay, I'll look into it." I held onto the handle of my cart and began wheeling it away, throwing behind my shoulder at the last moment, "Thanks, Maria. I owe you."

As she sat down into her usual place, she muttered, "Fuck yeah, you do."

—

(Three Hours Later)

I slipped the quarters into the public telephone and dialed the number on the card. After two rings, a male answered.

"Hello, this is Micheal on the behalf of Life Foundation. How can I help you today?"

I leaned on one leg, thumbing the card anxiously with gloved fingers. "Yeah, hi. I heard that you're looking for people to sign up for your trial. I was wondering if I can enter?"

"Yes, just one moment." Without waiting for my answer, I was put on hold. Some unrecognizable jazz music sounded from the phone. A minute later another person—a woman—answered sweetly.

"Hi, I'm Jeanette. I will be helping you today. Whats your full name and birthday?"