"You sure this is a bicycle," the stern-faced man asked.

"I'm certainly sure it is," the salesman responded.

"It looks to me like you stuck two wheels on a broom and now you're trying to run off with my money."

That is exactly what the salesman had done. He was no salesman, he was a grifter. He made his living by scamming people. Bicycles had not yet become popular in this part of the country. As long as he could move faster than actual bicycle salesmen he would make a killing. In fact, he had been making a killing. He was just that good. He didn't even need to add pedals or seats to these things. They sold themselves he was brilliant.

"How do I know you aren't lying to me," the man asked, still doubting this was the bicycle he had heard so much about.

"My mother was a nun. Do you think she would raise a liar? A stink? A cheat? A conman? I am none of those things good sir. If you do not wish to purchase this bicycle then I shall bid you farewell," the man turned and walked away.

His mother was not a nun. He was a liar. A cheat. A stink. He was all those things he had named and quite a few others. He could talk a dog off a meat cart. He could sell a snake new skin. These are things he told himself each morning when he awoke and slowly he began to fool him. He had conned himself and if you can con yourself you can con anyone. He walked slowly rolling his bicycle along with him. He damn sure couldn't ride it but by the time anyone in this town figured it out, he would be on to the next town.

"Okay, I guess I'll take it,” the grifter smiled as he had roped another into one of his games.
You can purchase my novel Phantasmagorical on Gumroad for $2.99
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