When I was 15, I placed my paper-thin driving permit in a Ziplock bag, and then promptly dropped it somewhere in the neighborhood. Some kind soul picked it up and followed the address to leave it in the mailbox.
As I was walking along today, I spotted a driver’s license on the grass. It belonged to an 18-year-old. I kept walking, then realized this was my chance to reap Good Birthday Karma, or maybe pay forward the Saving the Irresponsible Teenager Karma that I benefited from a decade ago. So I turned back, picked up the license, Googled the address, and dropped it off at the correct house.
It’s very satisfying, when things come full-circle.
I also took a trip to Breaux Bridge today, which is where tourists go to antique shop. P was drawn in by a cover of Rolling Stone with the Beatles on it; glancing at the date, we realized that it was a faux-sixties cover that was printed in 2004. (This would explain why it was $6). There was lots of Mardi Gras paraphernalia, several racist statuettes, and lots of cups and saucers. When P and I came across a section consisting of swords and army knives, I turned and ran; P later got his revenge by pretending to jab me with a pie spatula.
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