It all comes to green

I've wanted to write this one for awhile.

Contemplate this idea: the dollar. I clutch it in my hand, rub my thumb and index finger around it while I wait. It's musky; it's dirty. Funny how I don't like this one, I'd rather have a new crisp dollar that feels better. One that is cleaner, so I am cleaner too. And as I think about this, the man clears his throat and extends his hand, which is holding my coffee, further out and towards me. His mouth, which is surrounded by a rugged and unshaven beard, twitches while his eyes droop down at my thumb and index finger and musky dollar. I exchange my dollar for a coffee, a nod, and a half hearted smile. It is cold outside. It is December. And the lights are out. And just like that the dollar has become someone else. It is no longer me, nor my predecessor of which I cannot name. I cannot name... that's just the thing. We, as humans, share money more than humanity. It passes through us, is us, and moves on. It is the fifty dollars in the hand of an immigrant searching for freedom used to purchase food at a grocery store, where a father is suffering from cancer and paying for his child's college tuition, paid to an institution which is donated to a charity to pay for the clothes for the homeless... What a journey the dollar goes through. And yet, it seems so insignificant. Have you ever thought of where it's been? Of the man, woman, or child who had it before you. In a wallet filled with pictures of people you've never met. It's extrordinary how intimately it connects us. Because it is an involuntary connection. The more money you have, the more lives you've taken. Stories carried upon the back of millionaires. Little do I know if that man with the unshaven beard and tired eyes goes home every night and works for the almighty dollar just so he can kiss his children while they sleep at night. People can be quite extrordinary things. They have strength.