[Fiction Practice] Returning Lost Wallet

“What’s that, Float?”
“Let’s go see.”
The two friends skated through the college parking lot to a small rectangular object they saw while lounging around between classes. The obscured teacher’s parking area was empty except for trees, the two part-time students, and the worn leather object. The fitter of the two arrived first, grabbed the object, and started investigation before the lankier one arrived.
“That’s someone’s wallet, Quest.”
“Yeah, I’m just lookin’ inside for… ID.”

“Whatever, man.”
“Hey, look at this.”
“Huh, that’s Mrs. W.”

Quest exposed the wallet to Float. Hidden under cash and credit cards was a snarled photograph. The face was stained with stress and sleep deprivation. Perhaps even the scars of crossing one too many people over the years? There was not a sense of warmth from the eyes or mouth of the bitter face. This was also the same individual that was actively trying to get Quest expelled from college. “Oh, the intrigue… the coincidence!”

“It’s certainly not ironic.”
“Yeah, even with her iron fist.”

Float watched his childhood friend continue to riffle through the unassuming wallet. His clothes were tattered, mostly by choice, repaired rather than replaced, notably: worn out concert shirt featuring a barely visible red compass, shoes taped and glued, and red patches keeping now-gray jeans together. Yet he took it all in stride. They’d gone through a lot together. Covered for each other’s wrongdoings, and now, they were headed on a path leading toward financial stability.

“Rent’s coming up next week. I’m under and don’t wanna borrow again.”
“You do you.”

Quest looked at the wallet, overstuffed with more than enough cash for the remainder of rent, then at his friend. They’d done some wild stuff when they were younger. Always wearing that drooping red cap through all that. The glasses were new along with the gray hoodie embossed with a neon green infinity symbol. Float idly looked at the distinct anti-tank design on his board, perhaps giving Quest time to decide what he should do?

“There’s what’s best for the witch and what’s best for me. I can’t decide.”
“Doesn’t matter to me, dude. Let’s head over to a mailbox and drop it off. Decide along the way?”
“Sure thing. Beats hanging out around here.”

The two friends surfed the concrete waves through the college in search of a mailbox. They didn’t want to go to the police station mainly for regrets, rather than anything current. They couldn’t find anything on campus, so they glided into the city, where they found a post office with a row of innocuous blue mailboxes. Quest had decided his direction along the way, so he dropped the wallet into the slot, and they left.

“Hey Quest, wanna get pizza?”
“Nah, I gotta take care of some business.”
“Alright. Same time tomorrow?”
“I’ll call. Might work late. Good hanging out, as always.”

Quest skated toward his apartment.
Float hadn’t noticed if Quest took any money or not.
Wouldn’t disrupt the friendship either way.

My big goal is to write. My important goal is to write "The Story." My proudest moment is the most recent time I overcame a fear, which should have been today. I'm a better zombie than I was yesterday. Let's strive to be better everyday. (Avatar)