Dumb Questions


Don’t tell anyone, but ten years ago today, I was on a trip in Mexico. I was doing my usual thing, wandering off from everyone and everything. I was inhaling hot sun and exhaling residual U.S. toxins. One of my favorite pastimes. I was admiring the cactus. I was a little nervous; on edge. I felt alone.

I mean really alone. I felt as existential as a roadside chicken.

Then I saw it. There at my feet was a piece of cloth; worn burlap. It appeared to be something buried. I squatted and began to dig. My mind said, walk away, this is trash. What are you doing? But I couldn’t stop. My curiosity had me.

And I’m so glad I didn’t, because what I found was gold. An actual buried gold brick. What!

How did it get here?

I started looking over my shoulders. I grabbed the bag and held it close to me. My mind was racing, it was asking questions and it was answering them. Am I going to keep it? Of course, I am. Am I going to tell anyone? Hell no! How will I bring it home? Change of plans from flying to driving. How am I going to explain all of this money? I’m going to pretend to be a surf photographer. I’ll purchase a good camera and an adequate lens, I’ll drive an old 4X4 and I’ll seek out cheap living arrangements. No one will ever know that I’m, in reality, a wealthy gold smuggler.

To this day, I pose as a surf photographer and place a PROOF watermark image on my photos, so people can buy them for $5.99. I wouldn’t want to give anyone the impression that I am rich.

And no I can’t remove it, and give away my photos. People might find out about my fortune in gold and well, I can’t have that. I have to keep up appearances.

Ask a stupid question and you’ll get a stupid answer. ~ heard by me from my grandmother many times

And no I can’t tell you where the gold is.

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