Rendering unto Caesar (1)

Another version of this post was accompanied by pictures of unaccompanied banknotes I've encountered in public places, not exactly evidence - I could have just put the notes on the pavement myself and then photographed them in an attempt to prove to a thoroughly pointless point. You'll just have to take my word that it's naturally occuring currency. It doesn't matter anyay, and it's not mattering on the internet, so that's inconsequence squared or something.

The pointless point is that I'm intermittently assailed by money. Not stacks of it, just low denomination notes, usually singular, skittering across my path like freshly fallen leaves. Once, borne by the breeze, a crisply folded twenty came sliding up to me across Baker Street when the lights were on red, then changed direction to accompany me as I crossed the street. Abroad, when I've got my eyes open a bit wider, there's even more of it. On Vasagatan at least five ett hundra kronor notes and possibly a till receipt, all curled up, and they were still there when I passed again ten minutes later, as if only I could see them. On a Saturday morning. And as you can see above, fünf oyro all over D'land. It keeps happening, and no-one else I know seems to suffer from it.

For context:
A very good friend of mine originates from one of those countries in which it is evidently not considered indecent to enquire after another person's salary level, and resides in another nation where ditto clearly pertains. On being told, in response to close questioning, how much I earn, she cried out (I recall this verbatim, it was priceless) 'How do you live?!', sprang for her laptop and fed the figure through a currency calculator to estimate the true scale of my penury. Even allowing for the gigglesome £/$ exchange rate I was still considered a financial derelict. Since it remains the case that the part of the train or plane I travel in is dictated by whether or not I'm paying, it's fair to say I'm of modest means.

But. I can't claim to be as poor as all that. Here's a useful perspective - wouldn't it be slightly despicable for someone who does most of his food shopping at Marks or Waiters to be picking someone else's cash up off the pavement? Even if it's highly unlikely that the rightful owner will return to retrieve it, surely this stuff should waiting there for someone who actually needs it - for their next meal, or for the train fare to see a loved one, or maybe just a nice big pipe of crack? So, whoever's in charge of doling out the random dosh, pushing it all my way is inappropriate, no?

Back to the evidence above, I resolved a few years ago to take a snap of each incident of loose currency, but often conditions aren't ideal for getting the photo. For instance I couldn't get the fascinating Middle-Eastern origin banknote by the barriers at Edg Rd tube the other night because of low light. If surroundings are crowded it just leads to awkward questions, such as from the bloke who followed me up Charlotte St with a tenner I'd just captured on the memory card: "You've left this behind." "Cheers, it was there already, I just wanted a photo of it." "Yeah, but don't you want it?" "No, ta, it's not mine, just free money, anybody's eh?" [or something - I really didn't know what to say] Thing is, I can't be the only one this happens to: I reckon he didn't want it either. It probably happens to him too.