Good for something

Hey there brother, can you spare a dime? Or a penny? Or a cent? Or a Euro? Or some yen? Maybe some shellfish and shiny rocks?

No?

Oh well, thanks for your time.

Any medium of exchange will do.

Something that will allow me to obtain goods and services.
Something that will make me feel safer.
Something that I'll obsess about.

And think about constantly.

Plan, scheme, connive.

It's about comfort. It's about power. It's about sex.

Once again, your desperate need to procreate has made you a slave. Kneeling before Mammon.

But this no false god of mythology. This shit is real.

When you have it, it's your best friend. When you don't, you say you're better off without it.

But all it is, is a medium of exchange.

You exchange your labour for it. As does your neighbour there. As does farmer Jim.

How else do you propose we make this shit work?

This isn't Star Trek motherfucker.

There are no golden ages. From now on all our ages will be green.

Opening my wallet, I pull out a brand new bank note. Fifty dollars.

I feel it between my fingers. Smooth. Plastic.

I roll it slowly in my fingers, making a tube.

I put one end in my nose and leave the other end hovering above the plate.

Inhale.

Ahh... that's better.


Money. Not totally useless.