“Bollocks” he yells in his head. There’s a moment of hope, when he thinks he feels it in his inside pocket, but no. Every other pocket has been checked and double-checked, and he pats his trousers yet again, but he knows.
His wallet is gone.
And he knows exactly when it happened. On the Tube he had pulled his phone out to listen to music, and the clump of entangled earphones must have dragged the wallet out with it. His momentary irritation at having to disentangle the wires must have clouded his senses.
He should’ve checked. Always check.
“Always fucking check!”
The wave of anger subsides now, and disappointment rushes to fill its place.
He spent £45 on that wallet, specifically because it was slim-line, no compartments, no possibility of accumulating handfuls of useless change, nothing unnecessary to bulk out his skinny jeans.
And now he can’t bear to listen to music. He’d rather have silence.