You know, it's very odd, thinking of my brokeness and thinking of all the dollars that cross my palms every working-day. It's an occupational hazard of working retail.

You learn to think of it as shadow dollars. Unreal money that exists only fleetingly between wallet and drawer. You're merely-- ta'keh-- the execution of the purpose of the dollar bill, the whole sticking reason money exists: to be spent.

Isn't capitalism neat, kids?

<<agé chose>>

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