The wind kicks up at my friend’s booth where I’m working today, and some pieces of paper blow into a brown, oily puddle. A passing tourist points out that the “paper” is, in fact, a little less than half of a burned hundred dollar bill, but she and I agree that it’s probably not worth getting dirty over, since it can’t even be cashed in.
An hour later, the wind kicks up again, blowing a couple of sheets of stickers into the puddle, and without even thinking I grab it and instantly regret it.
“Oh great, now I have chlamydia,” I say
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