Two men stood over a leather wallet on the street. The first one pointed at it.
“That’s my wallet.”
“You can’t pull that on me, no idiot would try to convince the owner that his wallet wasn’t his. It’s mine, it fell out of my pocket.”
The first man froze. “Look at the license, that’s my photo.”
“No, no, no,” the other man left the wallet where it was. “Prove that’s it’s yours, without picking it up or looking inside. What’s in there, I ask you?” He crossed his arms. “Can you tell me how I order my credit cards? What zipper my business card is in? Or maybe you can inform me what photos I carry in there, name them all.”
The first man didn’t move. There was a long pause before he said, “My wife, and my children – the two of them.”
“Bah, lucky guess, but you can’t name them. But, there’s the family reunion photo too. My parents and in-laws all together, my older brother.” He sniffed.
The first man looked up at the other, his eyes hollow.
The other man stared back, “What kind of man are you?” But the first man couldn’t answer.
Shaking his head, the other man picked up the wallet and handed it over to the first man.
“What kind of person can’t say who he is, let alone know what he keeps in his wallet.”