A Curious Case of Tim George

1: A Dollar of Happiness

“Listen, motherfucker. Praying won’t do shit for you. Just think about it. He already sent his Son, which is somehow also the Guy himself, to die for every single human being past, present, and forever fucking future. What makes you think he’s going to anything extra for you. What makes you think you’re so special. You think you can just pray for money to come flying out of nowhere? Huh?” said Joe.

“Yeah.” said Ras.

“I mean what do you think you’re doing. Wasting all of that money on playing the lottery. You know it’s just another way of taxing the stupid.”

“It’s just a dollar.”

“You could have bought something off of the dollar menu. You know, buy some shit for me.”

“Look, even if I don’t win. At least, it’s a dollar of hope. Hope for the next few days — until I buy another one.”

“Can you two pipe down?!” shouted the police officer.

They were in custody for stealing a box of candy.

“Sheesh.” said Joe. “We’re just having a friendly conversation, mister.”

Suddenly, the officer straightened up. A man with a hard face walked into the jailroom.

“Detective Ryan,” said the officer with a voice of respect. “What brings you over here?”.

“Are these the boys from Moriah Mall?”.

“Yes, sir.”

The detective was thinking.

Exactly 217 days ago, the police department received a package that contained a letter and $463. Typed with green ink, the letter was understandably perplexing:

Hi, Boss. If my calculations are correct, my good friends Joseph Smith and Ras Tyson will require this money for their bail in 217 days. Also, there is a meth house that you probably want to check out on Woodland Avenue. It should probably, but more like actually, start in about 4 days.

— Love, Tim George

There were a list of other crimes in the letter. And like clockwork, they all happened at their respective dates at the correct times.

It was perplexing indeed. Stranger even that a Tim George did not exist in the city of Philadelphia — at least not the right one.

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