h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

It was a casual Chicago evening when my girlfriend Sarah and I were strolling down Wabash Ave. en route to our favorite second-hand boutique. As expected, a bum, or as some bums like to be called: home-impared person, acosted us asking for change in exchange for a Street Wise newspaper. Upon immediate rejection (we never give change for anything less than song and dance, being entertainers) he told us that he would not lie to us and that he loves the both of us. Sarah, curious as ever, asked why. The bum looked to the heavens in an all-explaining manner and asked if we beleive in his God. Sarah, looking distraught at having to hurt the bum's feelings, replied negatively. She then reached into her coat pocket and fumbled for a handfull of loose change. Into the hand of the bum the currency flew, and away flew the bum.

A few minutes and a couple of blocks later, Sarah realized a sharp pain encompassing her right hand. Upon closer scrutiny, she noticed that the pink, snowflake mitten that she had been wearing was missing. She giggled pink mittenishly and began to walk the other direction in search of said bum. He of course was nowhere to be found; nor was the mitten in all of it's pinkness. Did she absently forfeit the mitten to the bum in apology for her insufficient monetary offering? Did the bum, disgusted with her Godlessness, gank the pink glove from her very hand in a form of forced repentance? Did Sarah simply drop the mitten in the gutter while pondering the mysteries and complexes of orange sherbert? Is the mitten itself stored away safely in some sort of subconcious pocket of her winter coat? Is there a large Afro-American homeless person wandering Chicago's streets wearing a lone pink, snowflake mitten on his right hand?

The answer to these questions we may never know. But if there is something to be learned from this freak mishap, it is that you should hide all hand accessories when confronted by religious bums selling newspapers for pocket change. That, my friends, should not be forgotten.