By Becca Yenser
I went through the box of lost and found, specifically through all the pockets, hoping for money. But all I found was Charles’ crack pipe. I put it back again in it’s secret inner compartment. I waited for our windows to get dirty, so I could offer back his crack pipe. He always refused, but would take a Diet Coke and fifteen dollars. He’d write me a little yellow receipt from a stack he brought out from a pocket. I was always happy when he’d come. When he left I was amazed by all the light.
“I write to make sense of the world.” – the writer
thedrabble.wordpress.com 
Some people have that effect!
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