Today, while walking across an open, grassy park, I became excited as my hand swooped toward the ground like a hawk attacking its prey. I picked up half of a $5 bill.
(*Sidenote; I’ve always found money. Most recently in Denver. But one time, while driving down Ventura Boulevard in Los Angeles, I saw an ATM machine with bills being spit-out, so I rather gingerly slammed-on my brakes, ran over to the machine and, yowsa, almost $200, apparently free for the taking. This all before I adopted ethics or morality into my life).
I did it, I digressed, … Anyway, back to today, I continued to walk around looking for the other half of the fiver but thought to myself it would be impossible to find it on such a windy day. As I lifted my head, I spotted the other half of the bill tangled in the ivy beneath the avocado tree.
Somehow, finding two halves of a ripped $5 bill felt better than working for a fifty.
