Some Money: Make

"I don't have a job for you," Elias said, leaning against his truck. "But I have a strategy. Look at that curb." Leo looked. It was just a curb, gray and sun-bleached.

The "Money Tree" of Elmsworth wasn’t a tree at all; it was Elias Thorne’s rusted 1984 Chevy pickup, parked perpetually in front of the town’s only diner. Elias was seventy, with hands like cracked leather and a mind that treated every discarded object as an untapped gold mine. make some money

One sweltering July, a college student named Leo came home for the summer with an empty bank account and a desperate need to fix his car before the fall semester. He approached Elias, asking for a job. "I don't have a job for you," Elias

"In this town, there are two hundred driveways with faded house numbers," Elias pointed out. "Emergency trucks can’t see them at night. Go buy a five-dollar roll of masking tape, a can of white reflective spray paint, and a pack of black stencils. Charge twenty bucks a pop. It takes ten minutes." It was just a curb, gray and sun-bleached

Leo spent his last thirty dollars on supplies. The first three houses said no. The fourth house belonged to Mrs. Gable, who had nearly missed a delivery the week before. She paid him twenty-five and gave him a glass of lemonade. By sunset, Leo had made $140. He returned to Elias, beaming. "I'm rich."

"You're an amateur," Elias chuckled. "Now you have capital. Don't spend it on beer. Look at the local auction site."

Leo thought about the spray paint, the espresso machine, and the greasy lawnmowers. "That money doesn't come from a boss," Leo said. "It comes from solving a problem someone else is too busy or too tired to fix."