Money Meal
17th of February 2021
Money tastes like sweat dripping from the armpit of a vogue model. This coppery taste enveloping my tongue. I am savouring the object of collective desire. My special occasion, like how the poor like oysters.
I’ve always fancied the rare, the refined. Despised the ordinary. That’s why money is moreish. The rich history in my money-meal pulses in my mouth. Filtered from a small busin—
My boss died on the 17th of February 2021. I found his diary when I was cleaning out his office. As it turns out, choking on a $100 note wasn’t a freak coincidence.