In which our hero experiences altered states

Stopping off for a little supper, I looked into the future and saw myself, 20 years from now, wandering into the restaurant.

Wearing cheap sneakers and my tan Haggar Sans-a-Belt slacks, I ambled along slowly, my matching tan golf cap, with the emblem of the local public course, perched on my head. With a sky blue Members Only jacket my shield against the chill and a permanently confused look on my puss I sat down in the next booth over. I squinted down at the menu through huge, square framed, thick lensed glasses, looking like a gaping, slack jawed, peripatetic owl.

Yes, there I was, the me to be, shuffling in for a bite and then off this mortal coil.

At the table across the way sat a man and woman. Both were slightly MR. The physical signs were there. When an older woman, driving a mobility scooter, rolled in the MR man shouted, "Hey! Look at the pin that woman is wearing, isn't it purdy?" The woman on the scooter stopped and looked at the MR man. "That pin you're wearing is purdy!" said the MR man, loudly.

"It's a key." said Scooter Lady, scooting off in a huff.

The MR woman had a large packet of folded papers in a ziploc bag. The MR man was obsessing about the amount of money he needed, for what reason I don't know.

"Give me a dime and I'll have six dollars." the man said. He produced spare change from everywhere and started laying it out on the table. First the pennies, in five straight lines. Then a double row of nickels. A few dimes and then two more columns of nickels, punctuated by a stack of five more pennies.

The man started counting, coin by coin. "Five, 10, 15, 20...." His companion, who seemed to have better math skills, tried to hurry him. "Dang it! You're messing me up, you're messing me up!" he cried. The man started again. "That's 48 and this is 41. Forty-eight and forty-one." The woman continued to interfere, annoyed now. "Dang it! Don't move 'em till I'm done!" The man continued counting. "$5.90, $5.95."

"And here's a nickel, that's $6.00." said the woman, settling the issue. The man started to put his money away. "You're going to lose them! Put them in your change pocket!" exclaimed the woman.

"I'm putting them into my back pocket, where I keep my nickels and my wheat-backed pennies!" argued the man.

I dearly wanted to stay and see what would happen when they actually ordered some food, but it was getting late, I was tired, and my allergy medicine was wearing off, so I was gone faster than Yanni's arm hair when he got famous.
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