Funny Money - A Short Story

Afternoon hung low and I gathered myself for a two-and-fro out the door.

With 20 in my pocket from the night before, set out to exchange this dough for some more.

Roll into the store and order #4, just like every time before.

Surprise. Man told me get out, once more, or he’d call in the size by the door.

Turns out, this 20 was funnier than Cosby before… well you know, it don’t matter no more.

 

Dejected, took my money back to the bank. 

Showed it to the clerk, said something here ain't straight. 

She said I guess it smells just a little bit funny… 

Honey must by kidding cuz that 20 fucking stank! 

Told me could do nothing, that’s the risk of buskin,

and get out before you get busted for hustlin’.

 

As I walked back home, I past the liquor store. 

Decided try my luck, even the score. 

Handed over the bills to the man…

“Boy you must be kidding cuz this money fucking stank!” 

Words rang in my head…I still wanted that drank.

 

Well,

I Must have been in some exceptionally heart stricken mode of desperation 

To allow myself into this this next situation. 

Tried to pass the buck to a man of the street. 

He smiled, then said without missing a beat:

 

“What the hell's that worth!?”

    (idk anymore) 

    “Next to nothing I imagine.”

“Oh, of that you can be sure!” 

 

“For fucks sake man, at least try and look glad. 

People pass the buck every day on to me, but it helps if you show a bit of personal release.  

Here, I’ll show you what I mean. 

(Man, something sweet, dazzled the cars on the street.)

“See, I'm a showman of sorts myself, but aren't we all? 

No different than anyone else…

but to the extent you willingly label me as extraneous in your own life, I become a bum! 

To me, they're the ones trapped, resigned to their cages,

casually avoiding my passing glances and awkward dances. 

But I see them; I see them pretending to be,

them not seeing me... 

 

“Truly I tell you this 20 is a blessing in disguise, your life no different, my existence no more desperate than any other. 

It's a bit humorous; all these people slave away and take pity on me and hand out there hard earned money.  

As if my life stands to be improved by their humble generosity – maybe if I’m lucky one day I’ll grow up to be

just, like, them - lemmings! 

I shit and I sleep, and I fuck and I eat, every god-damn day! 

Live my days just like the rest of them.  

They give me their bills just as they receive them. 

They’re not what I want, but it's something I need

To eat, live, breed, and breathe.

It only represents a means of avoiding certain death, anyone who thinks different I consider diseased. 

You should in fact consider yourself indebted to that funny money! 

For the value of that particular piece of paper only lost its worth after you realized the spell it had you under didn't quite measure up.  

Something of it's supposed richness has been released – the fever broke and you have been cleansed my brotha!

That man in his car there – there, and there! - remains suspended under the illusion of worth overflowing from his double extra large pockets with cheese. Hold the mustard, please. 

But not you son. No not you…

For you have ascended!

Arisen above and beyond the petty squabbles of God's green worth. 

No longer does it hold any more power of you than it in my hand.

 

 (Car unfurls a bill, then runs for the hills…)

“See that, there!

From that, he defines himself as a man of value to the world.  

Piggy banks on wheels I call them, you should hear them squeal! 

Oink oink! 

 And should he ever feel empty, he simply pays into the system, 

hoping to once more value something else that might fill his brimming countenance. 

Somewhat ironically, it's the people who earn the least that often give the most, perhaps because they have less to risk or otherwise have not been elevated to the point where they confuse the clouds for solid ground. 

I don’t stand ‘mongst those hills so can’t be sure…

 

But by now you must of course be wondering, 

So, what does one with nothing value? Himself? Your self? 

I ask you, because by your unfortunate predicament, in this instance, we are both ‘apparently’ worthless! 

At least, that’s from the perspective of the apparently valued. 

Here, here, here! That one’s for you.

Right on cue, a stray dollar rolled out from those hills.

 

“You now can no doubt appreciate the power of disillusion,

another decidedly humorous conclusion,

and one which most others are all too often ignorant of. 

But, in fact even you the enlightened may return home and scratch change together from between the sofa, 

to order a pizza, and pass out awash in greases, free to begin life anew, 

destined to chase the almighty dollar tomorrow, to renew your leases, and tend to your followers.

Once again, you resign to bask in illusory existence with gratitude. 

And all the while, I'll still be here, with a sign and a snear, hungry as we all are for more… 

                       'Then aren't we all just slaves to value' you ask?! 

My dear boy, Our joint submission to the illusions of matter are important of course!

But one should do better off recognizing there are two sides to every coin. 

Yes, even my broke ass and I hold value in things: my charm for instance...

or a fire, or sweet and deep can of...food. 

How old are you?

"Anyway, I don't pretend to paint myself angelic. 

But rather highlight what spectacular creatures of comfort we are!

                    Fearful of notions which seem to dis-ease us,

                    and blind to the value systems we use to appease us! 

Perhaps it's all worthless in the end, but what's worth anything at all can only be decided by the individual.

From the sounds of my stomach, the value of food has just recently risen from the grave. 

It's unfortunate for us both that others don't assign value to that there slice of green.

In such case you could pay me for the advice that I preach!

But what’s worth anything to me and you, is only what’s worth something to them.

 

(Safe to walk sign turns on after eternity,

and I head for the hills slowly but assuredly.) 

 

“What I mean to say son, is you find yourself at a crossroads,

and though it seems all evidence points to the contrary, 

This life ain't so bad, and you can stand next to me if you like! 

This corner is good!”

 

Hungry and angry, I quickened the cadence betwixt and between

each of my feet beginning to seem…somehow, lighter.

Food was on the way, followed by sleep. 

And tomorrow I’ll be sure to renew my lease…

 

That night I dreamt I was stood back at the corner, 

grinning as everyday people passed forward. 

I felt nothing, not even my shoes on the street.

Something which once sat heavy atop my shoulders had been released. 

Come daybreak hunger returned and felt I had been beset by a certain return of weighted greasiness.

There was nothing more in these treasured hills.

And so, a soul complete,

                     I elected to live the rest of my life,

As that man on the street.