Many moons ago, on a weekend when I was home from college, my mother and I went out for lunch at a favorite local pizza parlor. When we exited the restaurant, we saw money blowing all over the parking lot.
"Surely not," we thought, and picked up a few of the migratory bills.
But our eyes had not deceived us: thousands of greenbacks in various denominations were whirling their way across the parking lot and into the surrounding neighborhood.
"How strange," we said as we set about collecting as many of the simoleons as we could catch up to.
Several minutes into our newly discovered hobby we were approached by a uniformed officer who smiled, held out his hand, and said "thank you."
It turned out that the bank next door had been robbed, and the yegg had dropped one of his plastic garbage bags during his escape; the police officer had been dispatched to claim the stray bills.
Mom and I just had a laugh: we'd known all along that we wouldn't have been able to keep the money, but the game was fun while it lasted.
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