Crazy Day

It has been a crazy day. First I found a hat full of money on the street. I picked it up and went on my way. But then an angry man with a guitar started chasing me. So I had to run. And run. And run.

Later, around noon, I was driving down Broadway Street in Richmond. I stopped at a red light and saw a young man with his thumb out. He looked hot and sweaty, and indeed it was a hot day. Sitting in my air-conditioned car, I felt sorry for him, so I waved to him to come to my car. He did, and he got in the car and thanked me. He had a small brown paper bag with him. I asked him what was in the bag. He told me he had been released from prison just a half hour earlier and the bag contained his belongings that he had when he was arrested.

We drove a few more blocks down Broadway, and then he asked me if, when I gave him a lift, I had considered that he might be a serial killer. I told him, “No—what are the odds that there would be two serial killers in my car at the same time?” He asked me to let him out of the car. And I did.

I won’t lie—most of this is true.