Musing on found money.
I was out walking on the beach — enjoying all the babies, dogs and tattos on ivory blotchy skin.
Then I looked down and saw
money.
I love to find coins. It’s an unexpected serendipity. I often thought I need to put every coin I find into a jar and then look what accumulated over a lifetime.
That never happened or will happen. But doesn’t take away the thrill of finding a shiny trinket that would buy 100th of a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup.
So when I looked down and saw a nickle and a penny — I was so excited — in an inside, keep it to myself because it would look odd to others kind of way.
I reached down to grab it and then noticed I was very near a group’s cooler. Not wanting to take anyone’s money I walked over and put it on the color saying, “I found this — could it be yours?”
“Oh..might be,” was the reply from the guy who glanced back a second then kept talking to the standing women with the tattoos swinging the beer can on her hip.
I kept walking.
He didn’t seem very happy about found money. Seemed like it was a bother.
Someone hands you six cents and you don’t even look up.
Well, at the giver, he was looking at the woman in the Piet Mondrian bikini.
Maybe he’s more into Modern Art than money?
