I think you would then resort to asking me to show my boobs to passersby. At that point, I would go take a pee and never really come back. Eventually we would both grow tired of wandering around and go back home. You would see I had made it; I would not only be back but would have had good experiences. I would not have died of hunger, nor would I have lost any weight. I would have looked good, tanned.
You, on the other hand, would look older, sadder. Moreover, you would wonder, forever, how your guitar could have fallen short as a provider and how I could have made it.