Pennies
A few months ago, I read a poem about the lives of pennies. Sorry, couldn’t find it. But the gist of it was the many hands through which they passed, and then the many years where some of them lived forgotten and buried. A lovely poem.
Anyway, I’m writing this at my friend Owen’s house. He’s a painter, and currently absent due to his vacation time in Ikaria.
Don’t ask me why we’re all here. Actually, it was all made possible due to the nasty breakup of some friends of ours. Now we gots the keys and can watch movies and take showers at his place. Yippy!
So we wanted to watch a few movies but now everyone is fast asleep but me because I am an insomniac. So while I was smoking a cig at the window I noticed a single penny at Owen’s workspace. Holding it in my hand, I decided that this penny was not just random change tossed aside. This penny had meaning to him.
I decided to hide it. I took his paints and marked it. Then I took a few sheets of papers and gave instructions how to find his damn penny again–I am pretty certain that little penny had some kind of meaning for him.
He’ll have to crawl out on the roof, stick his hand in the toilet, look in his nasty fridge, and defeat a drunken hooligan to find all the clues that lead him back to that stupid little penny.
I sure hope he will appreciate the effort I put in to the scavenger hunt.