The young man ahead of me was searching through his backpack. I could see his hands shaking while going franticly through his stuff.
“I can’t find my wallet,” said in his phone.
I looked at his groceries on the moving belt and wished I could come up with the money. He had a bag of crackers and some wine. Did a little math in my head to see how much I could afford to give away.
“May I pay with my Apple?” he asked the cashier and was out of there in no time.
I paid for my salad and walked out. If the tourist would be there in the parking lot I was ready to go and talk to him. Maybe, in my weirdness, I would pray for that wallet to be found. The guy wasn’t there anymore and, as I was waiting at the stoplights, I took a piece of broccoli from the container and shoved it in my mouth with my fingers. By the time I got on the shore, I already had my late lunch.
Groups of people and bicycles were strolling the sidewalk to the pier. I crossed the sand area and stopped directly in the water. The waives were coming and breaking on the shore in monotonous moves, not strong enough to scare me. It was good and refreshing. Then something touched my feet. When I looked, there was a wallet, an empty wallet.