Looking down the high streets of London, amongst the top hats and prim coats, a lone man stands out. A poor old man stands hunching against the wind in his thin cotton shirt. His patched checkered pants frayed at the calves, looking like the works of pesky rodents. If you look closely, beneath the dirty oversized hat, you could see his stark white skin and glowing red iris. If you stared hard enough, you could see the deep lines on his colourless face, defining his age. Shivering in the cold, the beggar’s long white hair blew about, giving him a dishevelled look.

From behind, a carriage slowed to a stop. A young well-groomed man stepped out of the white carriage, smiling charmingly. With a black bowler hat, a black cloak billowing in the wind, the man stood by the door of the carriage and held out his white gloved hand, bowing slightly. A fair maiden took the young man’s hand and eased herself out of the carriage. Laughing, the young man and lady swept past the crouching old man and strode briskly up the steps, into the costume boutique, not giving the poor old beggar even a second glance. The poor old man stared enviously, almost hungrily, as the young couple walking into the boutique. The driver of the carriage glared at the beggar with disgust and drove the carriage away, kicking sand into the beggar’s already sore eyes.