On the subway this weekend I watched a dime, or perhaps a nickel, fall out of a dress pocket when the man wearing the dress stood up.
“He just dropped a coin. A silver coin. It’s taking all of my self-control not to pick it up,” I told Good Man.
“Don’t pick things up from the subway floor,” he replied, “American subways are very dirty.”
I do wonder why they use orange, ugly carpeting. Why not make the floors mop-friendly?
Later, walking to Mark’s house, I stopped for a moment. I stooped over and popped back up, triumphantly holding a penny in my hand. “Found a penny!”
“In the dark! How do you find money in the dark?” Good Man shook his head, “I think you were money collector in a past life, you always find money.”