The bottom of Grafton Street, today, 4pm.
I was in the queue at the Ulster Bank ATM behind a well dressed blonde woman, late thirties, who had a pursed lip and a hassled way about her.
She finished her transaction and walked away before the cash machine had spat out €150.00, leaving me holding the cash with the greatest gombeen expression of 'what the fuck?' I could come up with.
I figured it was a pretty little windfall before my bastard of a conscience kicked in and I made chase, catching up with her on Suffolk Street.
She turned around and I thrust the cash into her hand.
"You left this behind you..."
She looked relieved but didn't smile, just said thanks and walked away.
I was texting news of my do-goodery not two and a half minutes later when a bird shat on my head and my jacket and my glasses on the corner of Harry Street.
I 'what the fuck?'ed again before finding myself in the nearest pub jacks, washing away the avian faeces, then making absolute haste to the nearest Lotto depository. Some good must come of all this.