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The lucky coin

“What are you looking for?” the police constable asked, eyeing the young man crawling on his knees under the park bench. “My lucky coin,” the young man replied, still searching the ground. “Your what?” The cop’s irritation was evident. “My lucky gold coin,” the young man repeated, patting the grass around him. “Get out from under there before I have to use my baton,” the constable said sharply. The young man scrambled to his feet. The cop studied him closely, mentally matching his face to the local criminal mugshots. The young man was tall and thin, looking more puzzled than dangerous. “Care to explain what’s going on?” the cop asked. The young man began, “I live in a housing society as a paying guest. The flat number is B23. I share it with five other guys. We’re all preparing for various employment exams.” “So you’re all unemployed?” “No, I have… The lucky coin