Wednesday, March 25, 2009


I nearly missed it. Just off the edge of the path, partly covered by leaves: a man's wallet. By the looks of it, it had been there a while. Address on the driver's license was familiar and not too far away. I'm happy I recognized the street name. I recognize so few things these days. In fact, it was a bit of luck that I was out on the path that day. They've only recently allowed me off grounds. Afraid I'll wander off and not be able to find my way back.

Since it was a short distance, I decided to walk over and return the wallet. Much better to be out and about on this fine day than wandering around that musty hospital. A clear purpose. Returning the wallet gave me a clear purpose, something I've been recently lacking.

Almost there. Should be a left at the corner, and then the third house on the right. Odd. How should I know it would be the third house?

I ring the doorbell and a woman opens the door. She starts to inquire as to my business when she suddenly freezes, staring at me. I explain about the wallet and assume that it must belong to her husband, and that it was really no trouble to bring it by, it being such a lovely day and all.

She throws the door aside, taking me up in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

I stammered, somewhat flustered, "My dear madam, there's no need for that. No need at all."

"Frank!" she cried, "Don't you understand? The wallet -- it's yours."

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