In Chinatown, in my country at least, a few dollars will buy you a big wad of phoney currency that we call Hell Bucks. I think these are for funeral ceremonies. I don't know and I mean no disrespect. There's a fascinating world of things I'll never learn about in this lifetime and that's likely one of them.
One day one of the lads came into the cafe with his suit stuffed with these bills. He cheerfully handed fistfuls to everyone. It was Hell Buck day. We joked, made paper airplanes, origami swans, played poker, and lit cigars with them.
I invested mine.
Waiting for me at the end of the line is a sweet all-appointed penthouse in Hell. From my rooftop vista I shall spend eternity practicing my golf swing on the astroturf ledge. There will be no shortage of balls because I have redirected the funnels from the minigolf holes to the condo top. (Oh, come on, don't tell me you didn't know those things were connected to Hell.) Yes, over the din of the Furnace I shall be rewarded by tiny yelps as my shots land far below on the poodles and marketeers.
This site is strictly personal. I give no guarantee to the accuracy of my facts or my fictions.
© 2001 Owen Briggs
last modified on 16 may 01