Hesitating in the gutter,
silent among soggy leaves,
a surprisingly sureal sight.
A one hundred dollar bill,
face folded in half,
emerald in a sea of ungreen.
Finally, you do snatch it up.
It's a little damp, but
it is real.
The street has hushed...
you're getting wet,
all foregone but you.
With it,
you start walking home again,
but you stop...
damn.