Jason swatted the flap of his cardboard box, knocking it upward, so that he could tell whoever was playing the damn circus music to knock it off. A monkey sat with a tin cup in its hand, mere inches from his face, which startled him. An Italian man with a mustache and baggy pants churned the handle on an ornate box resting on a single leg, causing the calliope to play. The monkey wore a bright red fez resembling a tiny felt bucket that had been inverted over his head, decorated with a tassel. A gray vest with red trim and gold embroidery partially covered the monkey’s white fur. Only his face, palms, and feet where hairless, and he broke into a Cheshire smile that seemed comically oversized.

“Would you like to buy some advice?” the monkey asked, pushing his tin cup forward. All the while, the music continued to play in the background as the organ grinder spun the crank.

“Buy advice from a spider money? Are you kidding me?” Jason was angry. He had been so close to falling asleep.

“I’m a capuchin,” the monkey countered, and squatted on his haunches. “I’m afraid you know as much about life as you do about primates.”

“Like I’m going to take advice from a monkey with a tin cup.” Jason wanted to close the flap to try to block the cold breeze.

“A monkey with a tin cup, huh?” The capuchin raised his cup, flashing the “ADVICE” label on its side. “That makes two of us.”

“Hah hah. I guess you’re not going to leave until I’ve heard your spiel, so go ahead.”

“That’ll be ten cents,” the monkey announced.

“Ten cents? Why am I supposed to pay ten cents to hear your so-called advice?” Jason still lay on his side, where he was reasonably comfortable. If he was lying down, he could go to sleep the first moment the monkey and his minder left.

“It’s not the money, it’s the principle of the thing. If people get free advice, they don’t appreciate it, and disregard it.” The tiny monkey adjusted his fez so he could scratch his head with his long, thin fingers.

“Ooookay,” Jason replied, figuring that he was going to play along, and lifted his hips off the cardboard to remove the buck from his pocket. “Got change for a dollar?”

“Sure. A dollar? Did you run into Rockefeller?” The monkey snatched Jason’s dollar and emptied the coins from his cup into Jason’s cup. The moment the coins tumbled into Jason’s cup with a clatter, the organ music stopped abruptly.

Jason decided to take it on faith that he received the correct change. He was too tired, and his hands were too cold, to try counting coins in the dark. “All right. Why a talking monkey?”

“People don’t want to go to anyone to get help,” the monkey said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Especially men, who always want to go it alone. A guy won’t listen when all his friends and family tell him his girlfriend is a lying, cheating whore, but he’ll listen to a talking animal all day long. He’ll even have the animal talk to him as he drifts off to sleep.”

“Which is what I’m about to do,” Jason replied bitterly. “So why am I a broke bum?”

“Well, because you are a broke bum.” The monkey reached up to scratch his back. “The fleas in this town are out of control.”

“What do you mean broke?” Jason replied indignantly. “I’ve got a job, a car, and $32.17 in the bank.”

“You had $32.17. The check you wrote to the auto garage last week bounced. Look at the real wealth column on your watch.” The monkey gestured to Jason’s wrist with his free hand. “You’re now at a negative 74.13, so you’re not broke, or at zero, but worse than broke.”

Jason felt irritated. “Payday’s in a couple of days, and I’ll be fine. Not to mention when I get my grandfather’s inheritance, I’ll be swimming in cash.”

The monkey pointed his cup straight at Jason. “You don’t realize how fragile your finances are, how your whole economic life is a house of cards. You’re partying under a sword of Damocles, only you’re clueless.”

Jason let out a dismissive puff of air through his pursed lips. “Come on, let’s not get all melodramatic here. I’ve got a stable, secure, job. Good night.” Jason reached up and brought the cardboard flap down, abruptly ending his conversation with the monkey. He folded up a scrap of cardboard to use as a pillow, and fell asleep, putting an end to the day’s insanity.

* * *

“Gunner, have a seat, please. The bell is about to ring.” Jason, or “Mr. Whitlock” in the classroom, thought that kids should be able to just sit, given that they were free to talk or get onto their phones for the last few minutes of class. His room phone rang, and he picked it up, hoping that the kids wouldn’t sound so noisy on the other end.

“Jason? Sam here. I need you to come by during your prep at your first opportunity.”

“Sure. I’ll be over at the bell.” The call was from Sam Ochoa, the principal. What did he want?

“Everybody away from the door!” The students had all bunched at the door, anticipating the bell, but the mass of jostling students inevitably led to problems, with students shoving each other. Someone was bound to swipe another student’s hat or punch, pinch, or hit somebody under cover of the mob of teens.

He was getting ready to shout again, when the bell rang. Jason let the crowd of students pour out of the room before getting up from his chair and going into the hallway. Locking the door and pulling it tight, he turned to leave for the principal’s office. As he walked down the hall, he passed students moving in all directions to their next class. Some students greeted him as they passed, while others ignored him, even after he said “Hi.”

The secretary looked tight-lipped when he entered the office, and she waved him into Ochoa’s inner office. Jason was taken aback by the sight of Gary, the school’s resource officer, who sat in one of the seats in front of the principal’s desk. Principal Ochoa, a heavy man who always had stubble on his face, motioned to the empty chair across from him.

“Have a seat, Jason.” He rose and closed the door behind them. Returning to his desk, he asked Jason, “Did Ashlyn Killen come into your room after school yesterday to make up a test?”

“She wanted to, but she couldn’t. The rules are that you can’t retake a test if you’re caught cheating. I told her that, and that she’s stuck with the zero.” Jason looked at Sam and at Gary, not liking where this was going.

“Her mom came into my office this morning. Ashlyn didn’t come to school today.” Sam leaned forward, causing his double chin to disappear temporarily. “She says you touched her inappropriately.”

Jason’s gut froze. His face suddenly felt numb and clammy. “What? I always prop the door open in order to prevent any kind of accusations like that.”

“I know,” Sam replied sympathetically, “but her mom hired Goshgarian, and has sworn to take it to court if you aren’t fired.”

Jason felt ill. What could he say, other than repeat his denial? “I’ve had nothing but problems with her, and I’ve been in touch with her mom. She’s failing the class, in part because she cheated on the test. I think she’s trying to get back at me, to divert attention from herself.”

“I believe you, Jason. We’re looking into some other issues.” Sam looked over at Gary, who sat in his uniform, nodding in agreement. “Still, I’d hire a lawyer.”

“Sure. I’ll be in my room.” Jason waved to Sam and Gary, then left the principal’s office and closed the door behind him. The secretary returned his uneasy smile as he left. His footsteps sounded loud on the tiles, echoing off of metal lockers in the empty hallway on the way to his room.

He wiped his sweaty hands on his pants, then sat down to look up lawyers. He made a series of calls, but a hundred dollars an hour was the cheapest rate he was quoted, while another lawyer wanted a retainer of two thousand dollars up front. Even after payday, he wouldn’t have that kind of money, especially when he was down to nothing at the last few days of every month.

The phone in his room rang again. When he picked up the receiver his stomach knotted itself in dread.

“Yes?”

“Sam here again. It’s reached the board, and one of them is putting pressure on the superintendent. I’m going to have to put you on leave until this is resolved, starting now. Malloy will take your next class until the sub gets there.”

Jason didn’t know what to say, but found his mind reeling. “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Jason hung up the phone and stared out the room’s only window, which was claustrophobically small and wedged into the corner. After shutting down his laptop, he left the room and checked that the doorknob was locked and the latch engaged, so that the door wouldn’t slip open with a tug. He wandered out of the building in a mental fog, and went to his car in the parking lot. After several grinding attempted starts, the engine kicked over and he rolled out of the lot.

He was oblivious of the other cars on the road as his mind churned in agitation. Could he beat the case if he didn’t have the lawyer? He doubted his parents had that kind of money, either, and he hated having to ask them, as much as he hated having to tell them what he’d been accused of. What happened if he lost the case? His teaching career was over, and even if he beat the accusations, there was the possibility that a cloud would still hang over him and make him unemployable. What would he do for a living if he lost his teaching career? That was assuming that the same pall of accusations of sexual assault didn’t follow him to his next job, or attempts to get a job. He didn’t see how he was going to get a date, either, if he was the creepy guy accused of groping his students. His only hope lay in getting his hands on his grandfather’s 37 thousand dollars, or 36 thousand and something.

Jason lost track of the time and remembered nothing of his drive until he pulled up to the curb in front of his apartment, feeling sick to his stomach. He got out of his car and wandered up the walkway to his front step, wondering what he could do. The door swung open and he was removing his keys from the knob by jiggling them, when he sensed something in the room.

A monkey in a red fez and a vest sat in his recliner, pouring beer from a tall Keystone Lite can into his tin cup.

“Oh, damn,” he sighed to the monkey sitting in his chair. “I’m still dreaming, aren’t I?”

In an instant he was back in his cardboard box, with the calliope playing circus music outside. He batted up the cardboard flap, only to be greeted by the sight of the monkey sitting in front of his face, looking at him expectantly.

“We can play out all the other scenarios if you like,” the monkey began. “There’s the one where you’re injured, and don’t have money to pay your share of the costs after insurance, go broke, and wind up living on disability. Or you wreck your car—nothing major, but it’s totaled, and you owe more than the car is worth, so insurance doesn’t cover it all, but you’ve got to get another car while still making payments for the old one. Or the scenario where a recession hits, so the school cuts everyone’s salaries, and you’re so deep in debt that you declare bankruptcy, but bankruptcy doesn’t absolve student loans.”

“Okay, I get it. But what am I supposed to do?” Jason raised his hands palm up, exposing his bare fingertips to the cold.

“Get rid of all your extra expenses, sell all you junk, and set aside a thousand-dollar emergency fund. The waitress at the diner? She could be yours, as well as a whole bunch of model-caliber women. You can be a superhero, or a champion athlete, an underwear model, or an actor. Build your real-world wealth and real-world health, and you will live the life of your dreams. The choice is yours—you decide how long you want to be a broke jerkoff.”

That phrase sounded oddly familiar to Jason.

“Oh, and one last thing—remember this code—357, like the magnum.” The monkey waved his cup as a farewell gesture, which caused the crisp bill to fall out onto the sidewalk. The monkey quickly snatched up the bill and stuffed it back into his cup. The organ grinder began to play music as he strolled on, and the monkey scrambled off to join him.

Jason let the flap fall, and tried to settle in, but he was startled by a foot kicking his box. He was about to tell off the damn monkey when a wingtip shoe caved in the side of his box. He grabbed his cup of coins just before a huge man with a flat face like a slab of beef picked him up by the lapels and lifted him off of his feet.

“I’ll be takin’ that,” he growled.

“No!” Jason shouted in protest. “This is mine, and I need it.”

“Think of it as a rental fee for your spot on my sidewalk,” the rough man said, shaking Jason the whole time.

“Your sidewalk?” Jason asked incredulously.

“I think you need to need to learn who calls the shots here.” The man cocked his fist back, winding it up behind him, and aimed it directly at Jason.