Pockets

"Hold on, I have it right here." Pete started digging into his pockets. Objects tumbled to the ground. A handful of quarters, a half-empty pack of cigarettes, a crumpled menu of Chinese takeout. He kept reaching, his arm almost to the elbow. An antique pilot's helmet, a golden Spanish coin, a battered leather-bound tome. Now Pete was bent almost double, his arm gone and his shoulder half-disappearing into the space of his pocket. A glowing vial of phlogiston, shining Excalibur, the first blush of youthful love.

"Aha!" Pete straightened and held it out to the cashier. "Double coupon day! Free bottle of Coke, please."