Wait, what?
Greg stared at the message.
But… Death was his area of expertise. It was the only content he had to offer. How could it violate guidelines?
He clicked on the support link, which took him to a help center with 847 articles. The contact form required a verified account, which he didn't have because his account had been flagged, which he couldn't resolve withoutcontacting support.
Greg gave a deep sigh.
Mortal life was very difficult.
Greg left the library defeated.
He didn't understand how humans did this—how they navigated the endless bureaucracy of money, the forms and verifications and terms of service and flagged accounts. It was worse than reaper paperwork. At least reaper paperwork had clear guidelines.
There had to be another way.
He'd read about something called “panhandling” in one of the articles. Apparently, humans sometimes simply asked other humans for money.
Could that work for him?
He stood on the sidewalk, uncertain how to begin.
“Excuse me,” he said to a man walking past. “How does one acquire money?”
The man gave him a strange look and walked faster.
Greg tried again with a woman carrying shopping bags. “Pardon me. I need money for dinner. Do you know where I can find some?”
She clutched her bags tighter and crossed the street.
Greg sighed for what felt like the twentieth time that day.
He slumped onto a bench near the library entrance. He was bad at being human. He was bad at his job. He was bad at everything, apparently.
“Are you alright, dear?”
Greg looked up.
An elderly woman stood in front of him, a canvas tote bag over her shoulder, concern creasing her face. She hadwhite hair pinned back in a soft bun and glasses that made her eyes look very large.
“I'm trying to acquire money,” Greg said. “For dinner. But the process is very complicated.”
The woman's expression shifted to something softer. She looked at his rumpled button-down, his slightly askew tie. “Are you hungry, sweetheart?”
“A little, I haven’t eaten in a day, and I made a promise to someone that I would pay for the meal next time.” Greg paused. “There might be burgers. I like burgers.”
The woman studied him for a long moment. Then she reached into her tote bag and pulled out her wallet.
“Here,” she said, pressing a bill into his hand. “Get yourself something to eat.”
Greg looked down. It was a five dollar bill.
“Thank you.” Greg’s chest swelled with gratitude. “This is very kind. Humans are very kind.”
The woman patted his hand. “You take care of yourself, dear.”
She walked away, glancing back once with a worried expression.
