What’s in my wallet

I keep quite a bit of stuff in my wallet. Not money, typically, but usually stuff like pictures and other memorable items. I say this to those who got an F in Morals class and wouldn’t mind “borrowing” a conveniently lost wallet.

Now to those who wouldn’t steal a fly if it landed in their soup; the only thing of some value that I keep in my wallet would be pretty much my whole life. Meaning, if my wallet somehow turned out to be not in my pocket, my life would be over. My life, in this context, consists of pretty much my life savings, as well as the key to my office, where you can find a beautiful Alienware computer and a camera that’s more expensive than yo momma.

So with this knowledge of what’s in my wallet, and of course my wallet, someone could theoretically steal my money, steal my identity, steal my job, and end my life. Good thing my wallet is ALWAYS in my pocket.

And now I think I’ve made it obvious enough what my next paragraph is about. It’s a very disoriented feeling when the hand thrust into your pocket pulls out nothing but pocket lint. I rechecked my pocket at least 5 or 6 times with diminishing hope each time. I traced my steps through my room, out to my car, and back to my office, which of course I can’t get into without the key that’s in my wallet that’s not where it’s supposed to be. I then called one of my coworkers who let me in, and I found my wallet under a backpack on top of a chair that I haven’t sat in since…well, I really don’t know if I’ve ever sat in that chair. Which is why I’m pretty much clueless as to how it got there.

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