Waaay back in 1985, I left my wallet at a concession stand on the Coney Island boardwalk. About six months later, I got a bigish envelope in the mail with the contents of my wallet wrapped in a rubber band, minus my cash.

I had no driver’s license or credit cards at the time, and I can’t remember what was in there that had my address on it.

It’s one of the weirdest things that’s happened to me.