Twenty five.

A seemingly fortunate twist of fate, finding money on the street can send a perpetual over thinker into a bit of a tailspin. The what-ifs run rampant.

Who lost it?
Will they come looking for it?
If they come looking for it and find it’s missing, will they come looking for me?

Graphic Quentin Tarantino-esque torture scenes play out as the debate drags on. Stray money in the Bay Area is especially suspicious when you consider the homeless population. Which leads to yet another round of hard questions.

What are the chances that the money is contaminated?
How likely is it that my reaction is being recorded from a window nearby?
Is this a set-up that will ultimately lead to my good name being shamed through some twisted social media frenzy?

This is a fairly accurate account of the thought process that interrupted my evening dog walk a few days back. The culprit was a quarter. While its true monetary value is relatively small, my personal associations with the silver coin are deep rooted. Quarters save the day. Parking meters. Laundromats. Vending machines. They can even be used to tighten loose screws in a pinch. Seeing one unclaimed along the curb left me checking over my shoulder and wondering what would happen next if I were to pick it up.

An unmarked white van just parked out front. It’s probably just an Amazon delivery for the neighbors downstairs. Right?

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