Four round George Washingtons chimed in his deep pockets and reminded him of their presence with every step he took. Dried leaves along the sidewalk crumbled into thousands of pieces under the weight of his shoe. He took notice of every tree he passed, counting them to himself under his breath. Sharp chills from autumn gusts forced oaths out of his lips and consequently made him lose count.
Twenty-one. No, twenty-three. No. No. No.
But there was no need. The person he expected to see behind the thirtieth maple tree already revealed herself.
“You’re 15 minutes early,” she observed in a falsely happy tone. He was late.
He did not put any effort into retorting. “Hold out your hand,” he replied instead. She was still a good fifteen, twenty steps away, yet they heard each other perfectly fine. More gusts of wind brought down dehydrated leaves by the dozens.
She stuck out her right hand, palm facing the sky, but did not bother moving closer to him. “How many did you get for me?”
He showed her the quarters from his pocket, and when he finally reached the thirtieth maple, he pressed them into her palm. “Now what?”
She gave the coins a quick glance, then looked back up at him. “What?”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Nothing,” she shot back, ignoring his dissatisfaction of her answer. “Nothing at all,” she repeated and walked past him in the direction he came from with slow, exaggerated steps, each spanning exactly one tile.
He calmly took out the last quarter, the one he purposely left behind, and dropped it between two fallen leaves. She froze, then turned around slowly.
“Tails,” he said to the empty space in front of him. “Tell me.”
“I would’ve told you if it landed heads,” she snerked as she jogged back to him to pick up the coin.
He chuckled to himself, still standing where he stood. She held the last coin in her hand, then jabbed him weakly. It landed heads.