Yoko Ono stole my commission. Behind that sweet face is a heart sated with greed. She walked away with three of my customers. Each time I stood there, mouth hanging open mid-sentence, she just kept on smiling. Saying soothing things to them, never missing a beat; her theft audacious under the fluorescent lights. Wide-eyed, brown-eyed, soul-eyed. No hint of wrong-doing troubled her placid face. She took their sales, pocketed their money, said strange things and sent them on their way as if nothing was wrong in her world. It wasn’t. Each time she turned to me, pirouetted, and grinned. “This is how it is done. This is how you make a sale. It’s easy. Follow my lead and you’ll be just like me, my dear.” I kept tumbling after her, now sure that she was right: I really could learn a lot by watching her. She’s crafty, serene, enigmatic. I suddenly, forcefully knew that she isn’t driven by greed at all. A few seconds later I looked over, expecting to be gifted with her smile and odd natural wisdom. She wasn’t there. The sun was hitting my face.