I went to pick up a Papa Murphy’s. I lacked sufficient pockets, so I (stupidly) placed my Dooney and Burke wallet on the top of Spiderman. (A friend had coined that name for the red Honda Civic my mother let me drive.) After getting home, I noticed the absence and immediately clocked the error. I was so sure that it had run off to Narnia.
The next morning, I was home alone when I heard the doorbell ring. After working through my annoyance and the wakeup call, a lightbulb of hope sprung me out of bed. Jehovah’s witnesses have the decency to knock at more reasonable hours, so I was amazed but not surprised when a cyclist handed me my damaged goods.
The wristlet had clearly taken a fall, but everything was intact – most importantly the license which told my good Samaritan where to go. I hope he’s still out here somewhere, still fighting the good fight.