Money

There's a $5 bill on the floor near my feet. I just noticed it and I can't stop staring at it. I don't need $5, but do I pick it up? There's only me sitting in this corner of Hell on the 10:13 (or 22:13 in GO-Train time).

Okay, I'm picking it up ... (put phone down).

Someone once told me that handling money is akin to handling used medical gloves.

Who knows where this $5 has been?

(Pause)

I remember when you used to be able to withdraw $5 from bank machines.

(Later)

I donated the $5 to the Camp Fund box at Tim Horton's as I drove home from the GO station.

I wonder how dirty that Camp Fund box is with all that dirty money in it?

If I were to buy the CSI kit at Toys R Us that swears on the box I'd be just like a CSI detective, I wonder if I can white light all the money in that Camp Fund box and how long would it take before one of the coffee keepers calls the police?

(This is hilarious to me after about five Amaretto Sours and now close to 2 in the morning)

See what this crazy train does to me?

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Originally written some time in October of 2009 well after midnight on a Friday night

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