The times were really better now, as tramps in the genuine sense of the word were rare.

“You’re not suffering from any disability,” Frank pointed out in curiosity. “Why would you rather stay holed up here instead of getting a job and making a living?”

The tramp sat, crossing her legs and pouted as she pointed at her head. “I’d like to make a living too, but I’m suffering from brain damage and can’t remember much.

“That’s why I’m here, to get some peace and quiet-it’s not too late to remember who I am and get a job later on. Moreover, the villagers here are quite charitable, and some of them often drop by to give me food. And since I’m no picky eater, I’d never go hungry.”

Frank strode up. “How would you repay me if I restore your memories?”

“You’re kidding.” The tramp snorted. “My brain has actually retained knowledge on that front, and I know that amnesia is due to damage to the hippocampus. That means the damage is irreversible, and I could only hope for a miracle.”

Frank nodded and pointed at his stomach. “I’m hungry. Get me something to eat!”