He knocked on the apartment door. It opened, and he handed him the videotape. He would've sent it by mail, but he couldn't risk whose hands it would land in. In exchange for his night he recieved $1,879.67. No money in the world could buy back what he took. Shawn held the cash in his hands, not caring who was staring. He passed along stores, holding expensive items he could buy, but never did. He couldn't spend that money. The objects he would buy with it would sum up so much guilt, it would only remind him of the things he had done. He dismissed the taxi waiting across the street, saundering to an older man. A homeless man. He didn't have much, but he didn't need anything either. He sang softly, hiccuping from his one meal in the day; bread. If he was lucky. Shawn got extremly upset, and suddenly wished he could be that man, and ran to him. Shawn immediatly spilled all the money in his hands. He took off his armani suit jacket and gave it to the discomboblulated man. He emptied his pockets and gave everything to that man. And walked all the way home.