The satchel sat lightly upon my shoulder, as if it were a bird perched and half lifting in flight, for it rose and reconnected to my skin with jaunty ease as I made my way to the station.
The satchel over my shoulder blended into my clothing, into the street, yet what it contained was more than dreams.
The satchel had been my best find in a while from the thrift store. The leather was kinda beaten, but that made it all the more appealing to me. This bag had already had a life, maybe it was some drug runner's money bag and they had to get rid of it because they were too well known for keeping their cash in it. Maybe it had belonged to a spy who'd used it undercover and had no more need of it. But whoever it was they liked cherry chap-stick, I found a half finished one in the bottom along with some old gum wrappers and cookie crumbs.