Six Coins

I have six coins in my pocket. None of them is a nickel. Together they make Zero dollars, no cents, and W100; mostly worthless but for the weight in my vest pocket as I walk downtown. They should be stuffed into the box on my bookshelf behind the five books I allowed myself to bring with me, along with the $20 bill I never bothered to exchange. Nonetheless they’re here in without explanation. In my pocket. This is where I want them. I had thrust my hands inside my pockets to shield them from a blast of biting cold. I found, to my delight, curiously misshapen USA coins of all shapes, color, and sizes, clinking alongside a clunking W100. Today I am walking along the busy highway. The trees have gone nearly bare, their leaves are heaped heavily along the creases of the sidewalk like thick eallow pit stains that no one has interest to hide away. They are slowly fading to brown. I shuffle through the heavy drift, breathing quick, short breaths. Little white puffs appear in front of my face.
My left hand closes round my mp3 player. My right hand, inside my vest pocket clutches six coins.
The Dime. A slip of coin so small and easily lost between the couch cushions or through a hole in my jacket I caress the tiny wafer, between my thumb and run it along the length oof my index finger. It is so light that I am careful not to rub it all the way in.
The Quarter is thicker than he dime but not as thick as that W100. Amassed with textured indentures my thumb attempts to memorize every crease of my first president’s (and the namesake of my home state) face. Contented, I rub the Quarter against my dime, feeling the crude grating of one textured metal against another, hearing only the raw wind against my face, speeding cars, and dismal horns that fail to state their case effectively as they speed along the highway. I imagine that the sound of the coins match the shape and texture of the action I sense between my fingers. and I bite my teeth into a determined grip against the wind.

My coins. My coins and my pocket.

I grasp the quarter then the 100 won,, smooth and heavy. Thicker. Both possess a serrated edge but one is elaborated, wafer-like; the other is bold. Bearing simply 100.
Three copper coins jingle joyously in their wanting monotony of identicality. Worthless even more here than in their home country. There has been talk even of voting this coin out of existence period. Three copper coins clinking craftily. When I was little, I would gather these copper coins fervently. I would stuff them into paper rolls, stacking them inside like a butcher making hotdogs. A person would drop a penny and not bother to pick it up, to much effort for so little coin. I would stack their value until I had earned enough to fill the tube. Then I would take it to the Exxon station and buy those 25 cent boxes of lemon drops, or sour apple candies. When you drop a penny, what’s the point in picking it up? What are you going to do with it, anyway? Give it away to a kid who uses it as play money, or stash it away, because, well, what else will you do with it? Occasionally I’d find a Canadian coin amongst my collection. No one will take those, it’s just too much hassle. What’ll I do with this? Toss it aside, I guess.
I have six coins in my jacket pocket. What am I going to do with them, anyway? I toss them around, maybe rub them together. It’s a little joke between me and my coins. A foreign sounding “hello” to my right is followed by a torrent of roaring giggles. My eyes bulge in their big American sockets, I flutter my natural-born beautiful eyelids and giggle back. Oh my god she’s so different!

I have six coins. They may as well be buttons. And they’re all so different. A quarter, a dime, three pennies, and W100.

Inagural Post

Here it is, my first blog on blogger.com. It took me a while to figure out how to set this up, because every time I approached the website it came up in Hangul. And As I do not understand th Korean language in such great detail, I was aptly confused. Finally, I decided to try to google the damn thing. I typed in Blogspot English and Yay! here I am.

So here it is, my inagural Blog. Hana, Dul, Set, Net, Go!

Much More to Come
Love Sus