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"Excuse me, sir," Frank said, interrupting the speech from his position at the pulpit. "Do you have a coin to spare?"

The man he addressed turned to look at him. He was tall and well-dressed, his suit tailored to perfection. A gold watch chain hung from his pocket, glinting in the sunlight.

Frank could see that the man was considering him carefully, weighing up whether or not to respond. It was a look Frank had seen many times before; a mix of pity and disdain, as if the person looking at him couldn't quite believe that someone like him would have the audacity to ask for help.

"I'm sorry," the man said eventually, shaking his head. "I don't carry cash."

Frank nodded and stepped back from the pulpit, allowing another speaker to take his place. The campaign rally was in full swing, with politicians from all parties vying for attention and support.

The only difference between this rally and any other was that all of the politicians were dressed in beggars' clothes - torn and dirty rags that barely covered their bodies. Meanwhile, the voters who had come to listen were all wearing expensive suits and dresses.

It was part of an experiment by a group of artists who wanted to explore ideas around power and privilege. They had spent weeks trawling through charity shops and second-hand stores, collecting as many items of old clothing as they could find.

Then they had set about tailoring them so that they would fit each politician perfectly - a process which hadn't been easy given how much weight some of them had gained since their days on the campaign trail.

Finally, they had invited members of the public to attend a series of rallies across the country where they could listen to speeches from these politicians - all delivered while wearing their new beggars' clothes.

The aim was simple: to challenge people's preconceptions about poverty and wealth, to make them think about the ways in which our society is divided and how those divisions are perpetuated.

As Frank watched the well-dressed man walk away, he couldn't help but feel a sense of frustration. It was something he had experienced many times before - that feeling of being dismissed or ignored simply because of the way he looked.

He understood that the man probably didn't mean anything by it, that he was just going about his day like everyone else. But it still hurt to be made to feel invisible, as if his needs and desires were somehow less important than those of other people.

"What's wrong?" a voice said from behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

Frank turned to see one of the other politicians standing there, also dressed in beggars' clothes. His name was Mike and they had become friends over the course of the experiment.

"It's nothing," Frank replied with a shrug. "Just another person who doesn't want to help."

Mike nodded sympathetically. "I know what you mean," he said. "It can be tough sometimes."

Frank smiled at him gratefully. He was glad to have someone who understood what he was going through, even if they were only experiencing it for a short time.

"Anyway," Mike continued, "we should get back up there before they start throwing rotten tomatoes at us."

Frank laughed and nodded, grateful for the distraction. Then together they made their way back up onto the stage to continue their speeches - each word carefully chosen to inspire and motivate their audience.

As Frank spoke into the microphone, his voice echoing out across the crowd, he couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. For all its flaws and inequalities, this was still a country where people could come together and fight for change - even if that meant dressing up as beggars for a while.