On the street corner, outside a two-story general store, a young man leaning on his broom hums a tune nobody seems to understand. He lazily watches the people flowing back and forth on the street.,A dull, alcohol-laced voice crept from the doorway: "Slacking off again Don't you want your pay",His portly belly strained against his soiled, floral-patterned shirt, while his face was covered in a tangle of white whiskers like tangled electrical wires. His sparse hair, barely enough to count on one hand, failed to conceal his shiny scalp. Coupled with his textbook-perfect beer gut, this short, stout old man's first impression wasn't exactly charming.。