Begging is by no means a profession, but there are a few techniques and strategies you can use to make yourself more appealing to potential ‘donors’.

By now, I have done my begging routine for a few days and I have started to become used to what my life is now. Given enough time, no matter how miserable the circumstances, people adapt and become accustomed to living certain lifestyles and though it took me some time, I’m depressed to say that I think I’ve got a handle on the whole living like a beggar thing.

The food was of course a major let down. It was foul and rotten but from what I’ve gotten my hands on so far I’ve managed to extract the barely edible parts to somehow survive.

Next was shelter. I looked around for a few days and repurposed whatever materials I could find and I’ve managed to make a fairly reasonable shelter. It’s built against the collapsed wall of a run down house and it blends in well enough with the surrounding garbage that you can miss it if you're not looking carefully. It’s filthy of course, but it provides enough shelter against the winds and the rains I’m sure that have yet to come. Though if it will hold off against snow yet I don’t know. I’ll work on it as I go and make it better as best as I can.

Water was simple enough thank god. I just had to walk down to the river every couple of days to fill up my waterskin before I gave myself a bit of a wash. People can sympathise with a bit of a stench coming off a beggar but if it's too much it drives them away.

I’ve also hidden away my coins. I haven’t been hassled yet but I’ve seen the gangs eyeing the beggars and I a couple of times, weighing up the possibility of us having saved up a little coin they could steal against touching us disgusting wretches with their own hands. Having that much coin is too dangerous so I’ve buried it where I hope it will stay safe if I ever get the chance to spend it safely.

Having lived amongst the homeless in this world I will say this though; they’re not really awake. They’ve sort of fallen into a way of sleepwalking through their days. Living a kind of routine they’ve collectively worked out with no real conscious thought put into it. With them all in this state I haven’t talked to any of them and they haven’t talked to me either, let alone noticed me.

But I have picked up a few things from observing them.

Like I said before an appropriate level of stench is needed for maximum sympathy from possible donors but a few other things are needed as well. How I look now is an example of this.

From how I started I was dirty and unkempt but now, I look properly miserable. Added on to the limp I had started out trying with, I've cobbled together strips of cloth to go around my left arm which I have made into a makeshift sling that I’ve also combined with a rough looking eyepatch to go over my right eye. My ensemble plus a tremor in my hand whenever I hold it out to petition people (never a cough, people get too scared to approach then) I now look truly pitiable. But alas, this wasn’t even my finishing move.

In my previous life when I was a teenager my parents had taken the family for a vacation in Vietnam. It was fun. The food was good, the sights engaging and the culture interesting. But there was a phenomenon that I did notice. One that I have put into practice trying to extract as much coin as I can from people.

Because let me tell you, when people start yelling at you, wanting something from you in a foreign language you have no concept of, it can make you feel real uneasy.

You get really flustered and uncomfortable and this will mix with some guilt you have for your fellow man living so poorly. So, all this combined, you will try and offer them whatever they might want to leave you alone and push away your unpleasant feelings. Because unintelligible words yelled at you in a desperate and urgent tone from a struggling homeless man on the ground beneath you can really push you past your level of discomfort.

And that’s what I’m doing right now.

Setting myself up in a busy choke point on the side of the street, I’m on the ground with my shaky hand raised out to people as they pass by asking them in a language they’ve never even heard of before to spare some change for poor me, who was tragically transmigrated to this world against my will by some sick in the head wizard.

It’s working quite well.

Unlike the other beggars I still have some vigour in me, so I’m performing and acting out what is most effective to get me some coins. To the men I’m flattering how strong and capable they seem, for the women I’m acting some pitiful tale to garner their sympathy and for the occasional child who passes by, I make some funny faces. I’m doing all this without any of them understanding what I’m saying but the message is getting through clear enough with my body language.

And because they don’t get the specifics, they fill them in themselves, and that often means that I get a penny or two.

This may not be something to brag about, but it took me no time at all to be the best beggar this city’s ever seen.

I’ve been switching spots, mapping out the most busy routes, timing where and when to be for the most gains, who looks and actually is generous with their coin; anything I could think of. It’s garnered me a bit more coin compared to the others and with my wits still together in contrast to everyone else, I’ve managed to keep myself at the front of the line when the cart comes by at the end of the day to get the best of what I can. With my methods, though it’s harsh, I’m making it through the days here with the occasional coin saved up. With enough time, I may save up a big enough nest egg to change my circumstances, after I learn the language of course.

That’s the other thing I’ve been working on the most. Understanding the language.

Whilst I’m sitting out in the sun all day trying to garner some sympathy I’m also listening to every word being said.

I’m dissecting the conversations people have as they pass by.

Memorising every short comment people say as they drop a penny in my hands.

Copying the groaning pleas the other beggars make as they ask for spare change beside me.

It’s hard and it's tiresome, but with nothing else to do, I make the best of it that I can.

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It’s been another day of begging at the docks like everyday before it, but todays been good. I broke my record for the most amount of coins I’ve collected in a single day and I’ve got a couple of ideas to try out to improve my act.

Progress.

I’ve gotten my daily serving of rotten fruits and vegetables with everyone else and now we’re all drearily making our way back to the slums for the night.

THUD

Surprised, I turn around and look behind me to see that one of the beggars has fallen to the ground. The crowd doesn’t even notice and passes by me unconcerned as I watch to see if the old man manages to get back up again.

He doesn’t.

I’m struck with indecision about what to do for the moment. We’re still in the cleanish part of the city and if he’s still alive I don’t know what they’re going to do with a dying beggar that can’t get up out of the street when morning comes by.

Nothing good it's safe to say.

The last of the procession has passed me now, onwards towards the slums, sleepwalking to death.

No.

I’m not like them. I may be a beggar but I’m not a lost cause yet.

I go over to the man and turn him on his back. He’s still alive but feeling his body it's clear he’s got a fever. Belatedly, I realise he’s only got one foot, and beneath him he’s clutching onto a rotting plank of wood that he must have been using as a crutch. I shake him and call out to him but he’s too caught in his fever to respond.

I seriously contemplate just leaving him out here, the night fully begun after I pillage what small possessions he has on him, but I won’t. Sure, I’m living amongst garbage but I’m not a piece of garbage yet. So, I do what might possibly be in retrospect the noblest thing I’ve ever done. I pick him up (he’s light enough at least), put him over my shoulder and I carry him back with me to the slums.

When I get there there’s only one place I can go so I take him to my shelter. Once I’m there I lay him down and put him where I sleep. Then I take off my coat and lie next to him as I pull it over the both of us.

I can’t help him or offer any medicine, only some human contact. It’s uncomfortable sharing the space with him but I get over my discomfort and I hold the old man, praying he doesn’t die beside me, as I drift off to sleep.