There's a house across the street from the abatement that we use to get out of our garage and onto the street, such that, as we face the street for the first time when leaving our house, that house is right there in front of us. It's white, old, and traditional, and has a small front porch. When we moved here there was a chair on that porch and a guy would be sitting in it every once in a while.

There were a couple of break-ins in our garage that October, as we were still moving in, got covid, and were a little unorganized, and I had failed to lock the garage and even left the window open enough for someone to crawl in after removing the screen. I kicked myself and vowed to keep the garage locked from then on, a vow I have had trouble keeping. But soon after, the guy in that white house was arrested for breaking in to other houses around town and I became convinced that he was responsible for our break-ins too. I peered over at that house, now empty, and the chair on the porch, but restrained myself from just marching over there and fishing through whatever he had. Instead I wrote a letter to the police saying I'm pretty sure he would have X, Y & Z and let me know if you find these among his stolen goods. They never even responded.

The guy who moved in after him had New Mexico license plates on his car, but kept to himself pretty much, and lived there right up until this last August. I kept meaning to walk over and grill him about New Mexico, as we'd moved here from New Mexico also, but I never did, and he was gone before I could. In September a black family moved in with two small children in diapers, who would be out there when the mother was mowing the lawn. The chair was put on the curb about two weeks ago.

It was an old leather reclining chair with a couple holes in the leather, and as I drove onto the street I'd look at it and wonder if we could use it anywhere. I hate seeing old furniture go out to the dump if there's any possible use for it. So I said that to this kid who has been staying with us. His family lives in extreme poverty; his sister is pregnant with a baby and in general he was having trouble, so we just let him stay with us. What I told him was, in general I like to save chairs like that although my wife is not so crazy about that; it looks like maybe you boys could use that chair somewhere, in the attic if nowhere else.

Well, he and my son hauled in the chair, and in the process, found a $100 bill in it. It was the kid who found it, apparently, not my son. Without thinking I told him, I'd probably return it to that family, them being a family and all, but you found it, you can do what you want.

Later it occurred to me that chances were pretty good the family knew nothing about the hundred dollar bill. In fact the kid from New Mexico probably knew nothing about it either. I think in its own way it was what was left of our stuff, coming back to us.

I think the kid is using it, a bit at a time, for his sister's baby and his own needs. First he has to cash it; nobody believes him that he just found it. But that will resolve itself in time. I meant it when I said, it was his to do with as he wanted. It was a somewhat privileged outlook of mine to be able to say, return it, you can always get more money. I could always get more money, but in his shoes, I'd have a harder time returning it. And the other aspects of the back story didn't really fall into place for me until later. When I said that, I'd only been thinking of the family.