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What I Learned From Losing My Wallet on New Year’s Eve
Life happens in the moment.
End of year challenges swarm me like the Pleasanton police that one time I chose to ride my blue Cannondale from BART to Mom’s house after midnight.
I’m sure those cops were just fond of aluminum frames and Shimano groupsets.
So last night’s planned respite from the slings and arrows of melanated misfortune was in full effect. I looked lowkey ripped thanks to a few weeks of conscientious cardio.
My grooming was on point like high fashion LeBron. That is, if LeBron was Guyanese brahmin instead of Ohio royalty. I deployed a freshly dry cleaned blue blazer, crisp jeans, trainers and a V- neck over a tee shirt so white you would swear it was American cultural values from the 1950s.
In other words, this brother was down for the get down.
My mission? The last Sweater Funk party of the year at the Elbo Room, a nightclub in San Francisco’s Mission District.
It’s about to be on. Except? My wallet is nowhere to be found. It’s absent without leave.
Right then, from one second to the next, the internal technology deployed. My decision to try and live in the moment all year kicked right in.
