I was walking down a street in Central Park, with trees on surrounding me and people scurrying around me. A street artist was calling out, “are there any young children out there?” He saw one and said, “can you come up here?” The kid was still clinging to his mother, since he obviously did not want to go off with a stranger. The street artist told the kid, “I have two objects: a dirty piece of paper,” he crumpled it for effect, “and this beautiful, shiny metal.”
The kid’s eyes grew wider. “Which would you like?”