The green five spot lay soaking in the tiny rushing river left behind by the morning's storm, anchored by orange, dead leaves. From his brown canvas satchel, Spencer produced a permanent marking pen and gathered the bill from the murky water and dried it on the leg of his jeans. In red letters across Lincoln's collar, he scribbled the name 'Ernest,'� a name he had chosen arbitrarily from the morning edition. Ernest Cusack was a sports reporter and the staff photo which accompanied his byline, a photo of a fat-faced, red-haired Irishman with sad eyes and a forced smile, looked to Spencer like a man who needed a beer. Five dollars ought to cover a pint. He returned the damp bill to the ground, this time anchoring it to the sidewalk with a small stone. 'Can't have you blowing away before Ernest finds you, now can we?'� he asked the bill and strolled away, returing the marker to its assigned space in the satchel.

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