Change

Probably not the kind of change you think I’m going to talk about.

You’d think, young girl, just moved, lots going on, lots of new things, lots to talk about.

Deep, emotional, wimpy shit.

Not this time.

Chump change. Coppers. Shrapnel. Spondulicks. Change.

DSC00474

What the hell is all this crap that keeps filling my purse?

It all looks the same. And everyone is always in such a hurry in Manhattan that it feels like an inconvenience to be ‘that girl that’s so cheap she counts her pennies to buy a soda’.

But oh my god it builds up. My purse is so heavy I could get away with not going to the gym and just do some bicep curls with it.

Dollar notes. Great idea!

Why did they ever stop using the £1 note? It’s a fantastic invention.

Dollar coins on the other hand. Why do only 5 places in all of Manhattan accept them?

The one time I decided to be the cheap skate and spend 5 minutes counting my pennies to buy a beer, the bar maid turns round with a look of disgust and says “we don’t accept those here”.

!?!*!?**%£$”!%?>??!!

Pfffft. What does she mean she won’t accept the only change I have at 2am when I want my last beer?! Money is money.

Ridiculous.

Anyway. Rant over. If anyone could please do me a favour and explain to me what each of these tiny little identical pennies do that would be grand. Cause I’m gonna be super poor soon if I keep drinking this much.

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