It’s not that extraordinary. It’s just an old, dented lunchbox. It has Spider-Man on the lid and the clasp is rusted past the point of no return. There’s a scratch mark on the left side where a sneaky raccoon tried to pry it open on the sidewalk at least a decade ago. But it is precious.

He found it in a dumpster. It was covered in a mysterious goo that smelled like- well- a dumpster that had faced the elements for far too long. The red and blue of the arachnid hero had attracted his gaze. The yoghurt lid stuck to the bottom didn’t deter him.

To anyone else (and there have been a lot of passers-by) it is absolute trash or perhaps a sad case of a collector’s item fallen into disrepair. The scrawny boy who’s curled around it is a sadder sight, but scarcely detracts from the glory of that ancient Spider-Man lunchbox.

The sun has faded the colours. The rain has made it nearly impossible to open for all but the most determined. But to him it is everything in the world. For, inside, there is a picture of his mother (one of the only possessions he managed to keep when social services took him); a small stuffed rabbit without any eyes; and the entirety of his savings ($264.75). It is his only treasure.