The Tale of the Bill
No, my eyes weren't tricking me. There it was, lying innocently on the newly paved sidewalk, as if it were begging for a passerby to pick it up. And I gladly did so -- after all, who doesn't internally squeal with joy when they're presented with free cash, essentially being paid for their luck? The wrinkled bill had clear signs of wear and tear: smeared with dirt, folded at odd angles, and stained with too many drops of morning coffee. And yet, something quite aesthetic about the whole ordeal struck me as I pensively stood there at the intersection. I immediately could tell that this dollar bill had a story.
Etched into the fibers, at the bottom-right corner of the George Washington portrait, was the phrase "SERIES 2009." Nine years. From its birth in the Federal Reserve Bank of San Francisco, to its appearance right in front of me at that moment. Just imagine how many wallets that dollar was quickly stuffed into, or musty cash registers that it was imprisoned in. Yes, I realized that in front of me lay a bill that had significance beyond its monetary value; rather, its intrinsic narrative was something worth acknowledging. It was true: my eyes weren't tricking me at all. There it was, a mere piece of paper with a beautiful anecdote of experience written across it.
Fire!
Like a fire, kindled for the sake of nothing of substance yet of complete importance. But what to do? The incessant flame continues to scorch all that it encompasses, so I find the solution in the fire itself. For if everything were to be burnt, then there would be nothing left for the blaze to devour.