It was a typical winter day: the skies were gray and a cold wind blew across Main Street.  No snow yet, but the stores along the street were already decorated with Christmas symbols and lights.  Main Street, with its flashy boutiques, was where wealthy shoppers came to find that special holiday gift.
        It hadn’t always been that way.  Over the last ten years that Kris had lived in town, he had witnessed the transformation: from a collection of shabby mom and pop stores, to an upscale model of urban gentrification.  The change had taken place because of the City’s new redevelopment policy of offering tax credits to new businesses, to reclaim an area that had formerly been lost to urban blight.
     
“I need money,” Kris said to Kevin, his closet friend, as they sat over a beer in the last neighborhood bar on Main Street.  “If I could just get five thousand dollars together, I could start my own business while the City’s tax breaks are still in effect.  I heard they’re going to expire sometime next year.”  He drained the last of the mug.  “How do you make money, Kevin?”
        “Buy low, sell high,” answered Kevin morosely.
        “Get real.  You know that store where the five and ten used to be?  It’s been for rent since Charlie and Thelma retired last summer.  If I had the money, I could rent the place and open my own store.  I could really do it.  I’ve got a business plan all made out.  Know any rich people, Kev?”
        “No, sorry, I don’t,” Kevin said.  “Why don’t you just try to get a getter job at the factory?  I heard they’re looking for managers.”
        “I’m tired of working for wages.  Besides, even a manager’s pay won’t help me with my own rent.  You know my jerk-off landlord raised it again?  I moved in when the place was a dump, and paid him faithfully for ten years.  And what do I get?  He thinks he can raise my rent every two months, because the property values are skyrocketing.  It’s crazy.”
        “Have another drink, Kris, and forget it.  There’s nothing a little guy can do against the rich and powerful.”
       
Kris was on his fourth boilermaker.  Another shot would turn him into a falling-down drunk.  “I think I’ll just go home, Kev.”
        “Have it your way,” his friend said with a shrug.  “And stop thinking about starting your own business.  It’s not healthy.”
        “Okay.”
        
Kris left the bar.  Once outside, he took a deep breath of frigid air and wondered when it was going to snow.  It was sure cold enough—25 degrees according to the electronic sign above the bank.  Every gust of wind made him shiver as he walked back to his loft apartment in his thin winter coat.  The cold air made his eyes water, and he saw prismatic circles around the streetlights when he looked up at them.
        Suddenly there was a loud crashing noise that made Kris jump.  He looked in the direction of the sound and saw a man dressed in a black leather jacket in front of Adam’s Jewelry Store across the street.  The plate glass window was broken.
        “Hey!” yelled Kris.  “What’re you doing?”
        The man looked up, saw Kris and backed away from the window.  Then he turned, ran down Main Street and turned the corner.
        An old-fashioned alarm started to clang as Kris ran toward the shop.  The display case was a mess, shards of glass everywhere.  The thief must have had only moments to snatch whatever was closest to him. 
        Toward the back Kris saw a mound of crushed velvet, and a fancy watch the thief had missed.  He looked at it through drunken eyes—there was a diamond stud set at each hour on the watch face.  The price tag was attached: $5,000.  And in a moment of inspired weakness, Kris reached through the window and grabbed the watch.  He shoved it into his pocket.  With police sirens blaring in the distance, he calmly walked home.
  
The following day, Kris read in the local newspaper that the thief had been caught by the police while trying to pawn the merchandise.  He was a man down on his luck; his welfare payments had been cut off, and he had no way to pay for housing for himself and his children.
        “Poor bastard,” Kris muttered.  He put down the paper and went over to the couch where he had dropped his coat the night before.  He reached into the inside pocket and pulled out the watch. Cartier. He presumed that the studs were real diamonds. 
        He thought about the store owner, old man Adams.  That’s what happens when you’re too cheap to install a surveillance camera and too lazy to put away the expensive stuff in the safe.  He wrapped the watch in aluminum foil and stuck it in the freezer.

 He continued his job at the factory, paid his ever-increasing rent, and spent nights at the bar, drinking with Kevin.
        “I’m glad to see you’ve stopped talking about money all the time,” Kevin said as they downed a few beers.
        “Yeah, I think I might have some investors lined up for my store.  I hope they come through.”
  
Three months later, Kris posted a free ad on an internet site, to sell the watch.  Of the three inquiries, only one was serious and eventually a deal was struck.  The buyer paid Kris less than half of what the watch was worth—$2,000.  Kris wrapped the money in foil and stuck it in the freezer.  He had been working every overtime shift that had become available, and now he had almost enough money to open his store.
        The City Council, responding to a softening economy, had extended the tax break through the end of the year, and Kris was able to squeeze in under the deadline.  The old store at the far end of Main Street was still available, and he was able to bargain down the rent.  He purchased his inventory with help from a small business loan and opened the doors as the economy started to pick up again.
  
He stopped drinking with Kevin and focused on building his business; and in a few years he was able to buy the building he lived in as well as develop a small chain of stores across the city. 
        He became known for giving talks on entrepreneurship.  “In the beginning,” he would start out, “I had to scrape together every nickel to open my first store.  But with good management and smart purchasing, I built the business you all know today.” 
  
Kris gave lectures to the Lions’ Clubs, the Rotary, the Chamber of Commerce, and to numerous business student groups.  He also contributed heavily to local charities, including the Children’s Hospital, and many not-for-profit organizations that served the poor transitioning off welfare.
  
In his fifth year of business, shortly before Christmas, the Board of the Children’s Hospital held a dinner in his honor.  “Tonight,” said the Board’s President and Master of Ceremonies, “we thank one of our city’s leading businessmen for his recent contribution to Children’s Hospital, which enabled us to finally complete our neonatal unit.”  He waited for the applause to subside before continuing.  “We are honored to present you with this plaque acknowledging your service to the community, along with this small token of our appreciation.” He handed Kris a large glass plaque and a small rectangular box wrapped in Christmas paper.
        Kris smiled and shook the MC’s hand.  He gave the usual thank you speech and returned to his place at the banquet table.  As he carefully opened the box, tears came to his eyes.  Inside was an elegant man’s watch, with a small diamond marking each hour.  The back was engraved with the Children’s Hospital logo and read: “Kris—your generosity helped make this possible.”  
    
    
   
                         About The Author
  
        New SIG member Ed Krizek was born in New York City and now runs a sales and marketing business in Swarthmore, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia.  He holds a BA and MS from the University of Pennsylvania and an MBA and MPH from Columbia University. He is active in the Unitarian Universalist Church of Delaware County.
        His initial interest in writing was stimulated by a girlfriend in college who was an Honors English major and a writer, but he did not start writing seriously until about twenty years ago.  He also wrote poetry.  He has published over forty articles, poems and short stories in various publications, and has won prizes in several poetry and short story competitions, including the Mad Poets Society contests from 2006, 2001 and 1999, and the Pennsylvania Poetry Society Contest in 2007.
        He has no ambition to make a living as a writer; publishing a short story and a poem or two is sufficient reward.  “It is very gratifying when someone reads and enjoys my work,” he says.  “Currently I am working on a chapbook of poems titled ‘Swimming with Words,’ as well as more short stories.”
    
  
  

    
    
                                               Copyright © Ed Krizek