I lost $5 at lunch today.

No, I didn't hit a casino or go out to the schoolyard to play poker.

I was at a pizza place and I said to this 8-year-old kid next to me, "I'll bet you $5 you can't eat your slice faster than I can." His mom wanted to go 10 bucks, but I said no. Good thing, because he beat me.

Fuck no, that's not what happened! I paid for my $4.40 pizza and Coke and two garlic knots with a 20 and got back a 10, a 5 and change, and somewhere in the transfering of the coins from my right to my left hand, as well as removing my wallet and putting the bills away all while holding onto my magazine, I must've dropped the $5 bill. And some 8-year-old came in with his mom shortly after that and must've found the $5 on the floor and pocketed it, the little prick. I hope he loses one of his PlayStation games. His favorite one. And he cries.

But then I thought, Nah, that's too much. I remember the thrill of finding money, especially if it was a quarter or a bill. And this wasn't a $1 bill, this was 5. So I made the little prick's day. But he still could've said, "Mommy, I found this on the floor." And she would've said, "Let's ask the lady behind the counter if anyone dropped it." And I would've been a candidate, seeing as how I paid with a $20 and got a 10 and a 5 back, yet my wallet contains no $5 bills and I had not left the store. But no, the boy's a greedy brat and/or Mom's a deadbeat whore.

Well, at least it wasn't the $10 bill I dropped.