At the market near my studio a man has positioned himself next to the entrance. I see him often around the neighborhood – panhandling in front of various stores, shuffling slowly from one location to another depending on the time of day. He’s a weathered, fragile looking man in his mid-fifties who nonetheless has a certain toughness about him (he reminds me of a journeyman boxer who takes a beating each time he steps into the ring but can’t be knocked out). I nod to him as I enter the store, but I notice that his attention is focused on the person behind me, a tall and muscular jock-type dressed in ‘athleasure’-wear, sporting a huge pair of headphones. I can’t help but associate this look with the neighborhood’s newer residents: wealthy, aloof, and into sports. As I make my way into the store I hear the jock bark out behind me, ‘Yo, you want something?’ The man mumbles a response, to which I hear the jock say sternly, ‘Go on, pick it out then.’ I don’t pay any more attention to the pair as I do my lunch shopping. But when I approach the cashier I see the jock standing there looking impatient as the man fumbles with his items, placing one after the other on the counter. It’s an impressive selection: a prepared sandwich, a couple of energy bars, a carton of fresh fruit, and a 1-liter bottle of fancy juice. The jock swipes his card, nods to the cashier, then says gruffly to the man, ‘Alright, see you then.’ The man hastily gathers up his items and follows the jock out the door. ‘Well, why not?’ I think to myself. This jock-gentrifier isn’t so bad – he probably has a ton of money, he should be buying this poor guy a large meal! When I leave the store I see that the man has already taken position in his usual spot – ready, it would seem, to hit up the neighborhood’s next well-heeled, would-be philanthropist.