My neighbor Tom got very rich
selling a non-fungible token.
He bought me a string of sandalwood
meditation beads,
and then moved to Flathead Lake
in Montana,
where he built a huge log cabin.
He let me buy his old place for a song,
and I was happy to get it;
my house needed a new roof and
all the downstairs windows replaced.
Tom's place was in very good repair,
and nearly a third larger.
When I moved in I found a trapdoor
down in the basement laundry room.
It was sealed shut, so I put a rug over
it and forgot about it.
Years later, after I had moved
into one of the first terrariums
designed for humans on the Moon,
the new owners managed to pry open
the trapdoor to discover a complete set
of Maryknoll magazines from 1933 to
1969. In mint condition.
They weren't worth anything,
really.
But it just goes to show
that we never know,
do we?
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