It’s funny how the moment you stop looking for something it turns up. I won’t say without fail because I’m sure there are plenty of times when you haven’t been searching for something it hasn’t turned up. On the other hand if you’re not searching for something then how do you know that it hasn’t not turned up? Rather similar to that question that unemployed philosophers with nothing better to do ask sometimes, do falling trees make a sound if there’s no-one around to hear it? But suffice it to say – not a word I’ve used before and, I promise you, I’ll never use it again, or you have permission to shoot me dead and poke pencils in my eyes, preferably after shooting me dead as less painful all round – I arrived, legs burning, lungs heaving, at a bus stop. There was a shelter attached to it, with seating, and this I collapsed down on to and caught my breath. And when I say “collapsed” I do mean “collapsed”, no hyper-per … hyper-er- …bole? lay? That word. If only I’d found this bus stop earlier, before the taxi, the endless walking I can forgive. And what would you know but here’s a bus! Things are looking up. Even if it isn’t going in my direction it’s going somewhere. Forming connections with other bus routes. One way or the other I’m – finally – heading home.
Except I’m not.
My wallet, it’s gone.
I’m patting my pockets frantically, digging my hands deep into them and coming out empty. Well not empty as such. Keys are present. Tobacco tin, lighter, accounted for. A piece of partly used kitchen towel, also present. One snail – snail? Why’s there a snail in my pocket? Oh, back on the garden wall, the poor blighter who couldn’t get in on the action with the two other snails and so went off to sulk. Well bud, you can’t sulk in my pocket. Here, try this garden wall, you never know the snails here might be more accommodating. With the frustrated snail deposited on the wall I return to the inventory of my pockets. All present and correct except for my wallet. That sad to say is still missing. It’s at times like this that I wished I kept my oystercard separate from my wallet. Not much of a consolation and absolutely zero once I’m home and slept.
I’ve lost my wallet, I say to the driver as I step aboard, but he’s one of the bastard sort. I consider refusing to get off the bus and kicking up a bit of a scene but a quick glance at the customers I decide it would be unfair to some and the others look to be on the verge of hostility already. My antics would be the mere firing pistol. So I step off the bus and watch it go. Great, no wallet and for that matter…
I route around in my pockets again. Shit. For that matter, no phone either. Where did I lose them both? If it was inside the taxi then goodbye anonymity and hello fugitive from the law. Just you try to proclaim your innocence now jack-ass. But there’s a good chance that it fell out as I was running away. Hopefully not immediately after I began running, so if I retrace my steps… damn! If I try to retrace my steps. And so, trying to recognize the roads I ran along, looking distinctly different now that my vision is not jogging about and blurred, I attempt to retrace my steps, keeping my eyes peeled for my phone. I don’t have much hope, but I might get lucky. It would be the first stroke of luck I’ve had all day if I do.
