I steal the pennies from the wishing well

My pockets are heavy with wishes. Children wishing for a Labrador puppy or for Dad to get a new job. Men wishing to be loved and women wishing to be listened to.

The one-cent lottery.

Sometimes someone drops a dime; either they have a demanding wish, or theirs has already been granted. The cold water closes over my hand, and when I withdraw, I will wash it off like blood. Out, damn spot. I wonder if I am pickpocketing dreams, this way. I don’t really believe; I only want something to eat; but these secondhand wishes will have to do.