We were walking down the street of an affluent neighborhood, having just gotten our Starbucks to keep our peepers open for the evening beat: a PSL for the Saint and a hot mint tea for me. It was the type of joint where people didn’t lock their bicycles in front of the stores and the want ads of the local newsletter sold comfort, security and false promises of legacy to the aging population.
My partner and I were passing the neighboring ice cream store when my eyes landed upon a wad of cash laying on the sidewalk. I picked it up, counted it: a ten and a one. No money clip. Hmm, not much cash for the folks running around here. We considered turning it in to the ice cream shop’s lost and found when we spotted a group of young girls gaggling together, about 30 feet away as the crow flies.