Walking through the backstreets of Florence, we found ourselves away from the rest of the tourists.
A man emerged from a rundown block of flats and walked a little in front of us, his long straggly white hair giving him an appearance of being slightly less than salubrious.
As we walked into the next palazzo, a small fountain stood to one side, a slow trickle of water filling the trough.
The man bent down and scooped his hands through the water, gathering the coins foolishly dropped as wishes into the water by unsuspecting tourists.
There was something a little shocking about it as robbing a fountain just seemed wrong.
Three coins from the fountain, not quite the same.