Say you're at a party. One of those Hollywood extravaganzas. Four hundred people wandering contentedly about a five acre estate complete with mansion, guest houses, and pools.
Joe, fellow you're talking with, says, "Here's a guy you should meet." As you approach, you notice Gucci shoes and Armani suit right off.
"Hi, Jeffery," Joe says. As man turns, Joe continues. "Want you to meet Bill Cathers."
The handshake is firm. The smile is gracious and it somehow shows in his eyes. You clearly have his full attention.
Joe has wandered off as you chat. "Have you a card?" Jeffery asks, offering one of his own.
"Sure," you say as you hand him one, taking his.
As if from nowhere, Jeffery tenders a hundred dollar bill. "It's yours for ten bucks," he says with a mischievous grin.
You hesitate, more intrigued than skeptical. Then you fish a ten dollar bill from your wallet and swap it for hundred.
"Got it yet?" Jeffery asks with that grin locked in.
You shake your head, grinning back, wondering why you are doing so.
"I just want to give you a call tomorrow. Deal?"
"Sure," you reply, still grinning, as Jeffery turns away to speak to another man.
It's growing darker by minute and you're in a part of town in which you know you shouldn't be. As you hurry down sidewalk, an old man lurches into your path. All you notice of him is ragged, torn and tattered coat that seems about to shred and fall to ground. He smells awful. And his eyes don't seek yours.
"Ya can have it for a ten spot," he mumbles, extending a hundred dollar bill.
Without breaking stride you step around old man and continue hurriedly down street.
Okay, Image Is Not Everything.