“You think he looks like some tough rich guy?” the boy snorted. “You wouldn’t think so if you saw his teeth.”
“What do you mean?” the girl asked, a frown starting to crease her forehead.
“My mum’s friend’s sister’s daughter said to me,” the boy explained, “that he ain’t brushed his teeth once in his damned life. That sound like some rich man to you?”
As if on cue, the man walked over to the two kids, kneeling to meet their height. “Hello chil’ens,” he smiled at them. The grime on his teeth gave the impression that he’d been indulging in several servings of fudge, though the stench of his breath told the two children otherwise. “Here...” he said, producing two notes from his pocket. “Getch yerselves something nice from me.” And with that he stood, cocking his hat to them before leaving.
“Well he must be rich,” the girl stated, wrinkling her nose. “It’s just he obviously saves the money he should be spending on toothpaste.”
“Y’know,” the boy said thoughtfully as they made their way to the bakery, “for the first time in my life, I think I agree with you.”