I used to carry around a fatter wallet. Then I realized that it was ruining my pants and probably doing my spine no favors, so I slowly adopted this thin bad boy that I picked up from an estate sale. In doing so, I streamlined the array of stuff always on my person. No more BevMo! card. No more photographic slide of a dragonfly head.

Inside my (real pigskin!) wallet:

52 American dollars
A Jackie Treehorn tracing
Nifty kinky salon business card
My auto club card (AAA can bite me)
BART ticket
Credit card
Debit card
Drivers license
lint
single phone number
phone list (old fashioned)

Upon examining the contents of my wallet, someone would discover that I both drive and take public transportation. They could guess that I do not have a cell phone since I have a paper phone number list. They might imagine that I am some sort of a sex pervert or that I have a enhanced libido. They could probably detect that my allegiance lies with no single authority from my accounts with both visa and mastercard. I really hope that they would tell me to stay out of Malibu.

So I guess they would describe me as a transportationally and financially diversified pseudo-neo-luddite pigskin-totin' Malibu-botherin' pervert.

I would be fairly happy with this analysis, incomplete as it is. One thing is sorely lacking, though. As I am a man of mathematics and science, I have decided that my wallet contents should reflect that. Digging through my waste paper basket last night for scrap paper, I discovered the following and decided to add it:

one pictoral representation of the first eight elements of the Fibonacci sequence and of the emerging golden ratio (drawn freehand in a fit of pure mathematical indulgence!)

There. Much better.

Also, yes, the lint is going back in.