Mind, Your Head.

A construction worker approached me with a found wallet in front of our "house" and asked me if I knew the person it belonged to. I didn't, but he gave me the wallet anyhow. I took the wallet to the police station downtown, which was easy to spot, as it was elegantly lit with neon signs. I approached the front counter with wallet in hand and was hesitantly greeted by the woman at reception. I told her I had found a lost wallet, and wanted to turn it in, by recommendation of a representative of her bank. She took my name, and penciled a detailed description of the events surrounding my acquirement of the wallet, and returning it. She instructed me to wait patiently in the lobby until an officer summoned me for further questioning. I turned and was greeted by the eyes of a man around my age, perhaps a little older, with long, dark, greasy hair, and matching beard. He was dressed in black from head to toe, an outfit that had obviously been worn, uninterrupted for a lengthy amount of time. His voice caught me off guard. "Seems awfully difficult to be a good samaritan anymore." I awkwardly laughed and agreed: "I suppose." He added: "The more you see, the closer you become to sitting where I'm sitting." I didn't respond. He then offered a lightness to the mood by making a few quips about there being cash in the wallet, and some more obvious commentary on natural reaction. He was then summoned out of the room, and I to another counter. I eventually handed in the wallet to the appropriate authorities and was offered a receipt. I politely denied the receipt, as it was not my wallet. I left the police station and passed the man in black once again, who asked me for a light. He thanked me twice, and offered me a cigarette that was obviously pulled out of a nearby ash tray or garbage can moments before. I denied it. He told me I would be rewarded, and I told him I was entitled to nothing, and joked that if anything comes of this occurrence, it would be a mere test of karma. He replied "It is karma, just not the way you choose." The point of this story is not to parade something that would be interpreted as a selfless act, or to inform you of how good of a samaritan I can be, but merely an interesting portrait of truth, and justice. Its not a story of how bizzarre or corrupted the concepts are, but rather how surprising their vessels can be. Mind, your head.



Blogger Veronica said...

The police stations were folding out in slow motion;
The black and white dots splotch to the
12:00 moment, as a lime aroma,
And your cinnamon veins gravitate towards
The nearest police station,
Gravitating towards you,
Melting the wallet to the wall,
And the black // white
Machine ticks in the corner,
And your cinnamon veins
Rise // fall,
Your breathe becomes
Hot // cold
Emblems in the corners
And hours emerge into light
Ticking hot nectars,


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