The man who looked like a tramp looked at the volunteers before him.He did not care what they thought of him - they were paying him good money for his talent and that was all that counted. Money counted. Being despised by those who had it because he did not was not something that counted.He looked at them.An old lady - too rich, too safe. Her aura was putrid yellow and if you could smell it, he'd have bet it smelt of faeces and lavendar water.A rich boy, maybe the son of a banker, or a wanker. He was green. He was very green. It was greed and it ate through every part of him even down to his aura. Jade and one day jaded.He looked at the black boy. He was from the south. He sparkled and glowed, gold, red, gold. He shone with a glory of greatness that was almost visible - but wasn't. Wasn't, unless you could see auras, like 'the old tramp' could.He pointed at the black boy. "HIM" he said. "He's the best."And they all went away - most unhappy but one happy southener."I like him the best" said the tramp. "I like the southener aura the best".