Electric Sheep Shaver

Many years ago (if 15 is "many" to you), in high school, I once gave someone a handful of change more or less on demand, yet in passing. It's hard to describe the situation:  an odd exchange that took place without the slightest hint of analysis or care. Like passing the salt at dinner, without knowing who you gave it too, or even talking to them. I was walking somewhere in a crowded school hall, in a daydream most likely, and someone asked me for money, so I gave them the contents of my pocket without question, and kept going without comment. It wasn't for a moment or two that I realized what had happened. So much for presents of mind.

I had a dream that I had found the money in my backpack. After all these years, I hadn't given it away, it was right there in that one pocket. You know, that pocket that your backpack has that you find in your dream, the one you've not opened in years. In the dream, the money was there. A big handful of it. I mildly happy. There was no point in caring about the mysterious deposit of a few dollars in coinage, but at the same time, there it was. Something to keep the change jar from blowing away. I like the way coins feel in the hand. Slightly heavy, like they could do something.

When I woke up, I decided to go looking for the missing pocket. Of course, it wasn't there. But I opened that other pocket. The pocket I never open because nothing of interest ever fits in there. What did I find?

 Of course, it's not the same money. It's been squirreled away as a product of eating out on business trips, and not wanting to be burdened with a jingly pocketload that would barely added up to a cheeseburger.