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The words shot out of my mouth some time recently I indeed thought them. It was instinctual—like my body knew some time recently my brain caught up. But it was as well late. His fingers were as of now wrapped around the little, strange protest on the floor.
It seem have been anything. A disposed of piece of sweet. A grimy coin. A glass shard imagining to be safe. I lurched forward, heart hustling, as on the off chance that the destiny of the world depended on halting him.
"Why not?" His guiltless eyes squinted up at me, interest unbroken.
"Because—because you do not know where it's been," I stammered. "It may well be dirty, or unsafe, or—"
"Or it can be treasure." He smiled.
Treasure. That was the issue, wasn't it? Kids saw plausibility in everything. Grown-ups saw threat. What in the event that I was off-base? What in the event that, in my scurry to ensure, I had grabbed absent a minor marvel?
Still, I pried his fingers open. A folded ticket stub. The ink scarcely neat. Concede One.
Concede one to what? A appear that had passed? A ride never taken? A life half-lived?
I looked at him and murmured. "Fine. Keep it. But wash your hands."
He transmitted. Possibly, fair possibly, he had picked right.