Every evening after work I get off the Bay Area Rapid Transit system near my home in Oakland.
Often there is a saxophonist standing outside the station playing for contributions. He is a talented musician. He plays very difficult scales and very complicated jazz runs.
His collection box is usually empty.
Being the know-it-all that I am, I have an uncontrollable urge to grab the guy by the lapels and holler, "Schmuck, you want to make money? Play songs, not scales."