Member-only story
Loose Change
Thoughts on change
All the change is gone. It used to be everywhere. In between the cushions in the bottom of the backpack in the pockets of jeans, jackets, jorts, and in the cup holders of every car and bus. Change soared 30,000 feet and dove to the bottom of the ocean. The change would pile up and you could take it to the bank and come out with bills that went back into quarters, nickels, and dimes, to the last decimal place. There was so much change that if you saw it on the sidewalk your mind would momentarily pick it up, marvel at your luck, and then go about your day a little richer.
Change was an inconvenience. There was no need for change. Tap, swipe, or insert and wait for processing the receipt is optional but always accounted for. It slipped between your fingers into the cracks you can’t reach, the places in history and past where the sound of change spelunking in coffee cans, mason jars, collected in piggy banks to become the first wishes of every child and the last hope of the destitute, the hand out in the sidewalk scorched by elemental apathy, hoping for a meal, hoping for kindness. Your mind became poor, you thought of the change that you had forgotten and the kindness you could give. Dreams were built on change.
And now the change is gone.
