So here I am with dust on my hands.
Popping quarters from their cardboard slots in the states.
Which one was the coin grandpa taped to an index card
and mailed across the country for me?
It's hard
to pry the coins out because they bend my nails.
Scissors tear the slots so now Texas has a scar.
I'm a f--king adult.
I take vodka in my juice now.
Oregon puts up a fight. F--k.
Maybe I'll put my fortune towards rent. Or food.


The coins aren't that heavy.

The End

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