Another Man’s Passport

When they gave me my new passport at the counter, there was another man’s passport underneath it. I picked it up along with my own. Did I do this on purpose? Or was it an accident? I’m not sure. But I took both passports. The documents went in my briefcase and I quickly walked out of the building.

Later, back in the privacy of my office, I looked at the other passport. The name inside was Frank Marksman. The passport seemed identical to mine, but thicker, with additional pages. It turned out it was a passport for a truck driver; now that I looked closer, I could see the words “truck driver” on the bottom corner of the passport cover. I assumed the extra pages were to accommodate his frequent border crossings.

The picture of Frank was rather ordinary. A fat man, in his 40s (which was roughly the same age as me), with thinning hair, blue eyes, a lined face. Nothing remarkable about him.

What should I do with this passport? Presumably Frank was at the counter at the passport office, waiting for it to be handed to him. The clerk behind the counter would at some point realize it was missing. He would no doubt blame himself. Frank would get mad. There would be a commotion and many apologies from the clerk. They might tear the office apart, looking for the passport, perplexed at what could have possibly happened.