I Feel Like a Million $

A nickel ain't worth a dime anymore.

—Yogi Berra

I wish I could rub a hundred dollar bill on my heartand be cured of sadness, but there's more bacteriaon the average dollar than on a public toilet seat.Speaking of which, have you ever gone to the moviesand slipped out to the bathroom only to discovera lump on your testicle, then returned to the theaterand sat beside your wife as if nothing were wrong,while up on-screen a corpse coughed silver coins?Just me? We live in the country that printedmind your business on its first penny,though the mind is a terrible business, all retail therapyand one-eyed pyramids beaming carcinogenic raysover the field where children play hide-and-seek.Ask the Romans—they'll tell you the endof civilization is always gold plated, that the rainfalling soft as singles can't wash away the bloodin the Colosseum. If I ever wondered about the worthof my life, now I can just count the commasin my chemo bill, and when that's done, hold upevery belonging in my house and ask if it sparksjoy—can you just spark joy for goddamn once?—and thenput it back. A waiter pulls what he thinks is a twentyfrom under the ketchup bottle, only to discoverit's a pamphlet shouting some things are betterthen money! love the lord jesus!The government is shut down, and Crystal Mintonof Florida is very upset with her president: "I thought he was going to do good things. He's not hurtingthe people he needs to be hurting." Sometimes love,any love, feels like throwing good money after bad.I don't remember what the Louisiana Purchase bought,but I remember my dad's advice: Carry a roll of nickelsin your pocket if you go out drinking, because a handwrapped around two hundred grams of metal can break a jawlike it's nothing. How can I judge Crystal when my fistis a hardened wad of twenties burning a hole in my pocket,and the world is full of faces I'd love to spend it on?So, no, you don't have to tell me that testicular canceris as redundant as ATM machine. But it's a funny thing:when your body's trying to kill you, you still have to take itto the grocery store to buy lettuce and Windex. You still smileat the cashier because she's your student, thoughyou've seen the Confederate flag sticker on her truck.And as you hand her your money, you can wonderat how so much of civilization depends on knowingso little about what other people are thinking,so that when she smiles and says, "Here's your change. Havea blessed day," you smile and say, "Thank you," and mean it.