…If only I had a penny for every wet money dream I witness in people’s eyes. I myself would be filthy rich by now. And utterly poor in spirit I might say. I wish I could bathe in pennies till I become one with the metal pennies are made of. Then I would walk down the filthy streets, delicately screeching the pavement with my precious nature. And hookers and beggars would look up to my shiny indifference, shyily whispering: save us. And I would put on a glassy glare and say:NO.
I’d shower the streets with gold, until everyone drowns into a golden silence. Businessmen and low-lives alike, with their hand in their pants, would savor a golden vigor mortis. Thirsty ladies would pluck out the precious diamonds in their eyes. And by seven o’clock the streets would be cleansed, just as the aisles lay in silence after all automated consumers have drained them of their lollypops. Like locusts. I put a coin into Rosie’s sweet mouth. I tell her to chew, and see if she can swallow. She’s mad with money and she sure can’t resist this raw temptation. But teeth keep falling on the floor like tears.
Sorry Rosie… today isn’t a good day for business, lav.