God is a Pre-Op Tranny

I cashed out all the karma and good-will-toward-men I've got coming to me in 2005, and on the first day of the year.

Mac and I were on the stalk for some falafel in the East Village, close to his place. When I patted myself down--as I am wont to do--I noticed my flat front pants were flatter in the front than usual. No wallet in the pockets. Nor in my jacket, though keys, change, gum and cell were all accounted for. We retraced our steps, which turned into long, bounding strides. Still, no wallet.

Well, that's that, I thought. Because I still had my debit card and some cash (which I carry on me, away from my wallet for this very reason) I figured at least some damage had been contained. Credit cards could be canceled in minutes. And the lost money could be thought of as a moron tax which I deserved to pay, since I was pretty sure my wallet had fallen out of an open pocket along with my phone when it had fallen out earlier. All of this I could resign myself to, but with an early morning flight to Detroit the next day I absolutely needed my photo ID.

In the wallet, naturellement.

That being that indeed, Mac continued questing after Middle Eastern food. I went back to the apartment just in case the wallet was there after all. It wasn't. Two friends helped me resume the futile search. On a crowded Manhattan street, once out of my pocket, that wallet was gone. It probably never even hit the ground.

Still, there were motions to go through. Reality to avoid. My eyes were cast downward, but not out of any hope of finding the wallet; I wasn't really looking at anything. As the three of us made our way down the narrow sidewalk, a transvestite made eye contact with me.

"What's your name?" (S)he asked.

My friend put his shoulder between us, in a gentle attempt to prevent the tranny's attempted pick-up. This, in a moment of raw vulernability. But I answered anyways. "Grant."

Oh, my name was my shame! Saying it out loud sounded like an indictment. "Grant" as in "(comma) the idiot who lost his wallet on New Year's day and missed his flight home, remember him?"

But the transvestite persisted. "Did you lose this?"

She refused my offers of money as a reward. In the face the transcendent beauty of her act money did seem garish. "No, no" she said "I'm a good person."

Money? That's nothing. I would have done anything .

She slipped into a cab while the three of us reeled from such a flaming display of integrity. By the time we came across her, at least ten if not fifteen minutes had passed. And yet she remained there--exactly where I was sure the wallet had fallen out--until she could bring grace to some out-of-state 'mo.

At that moment, God was a pre-op tranny in the East Village.