my last twenty euro notes

This morning I surrendered my last twenty euro note to the Western Union employee in exchange for 214 dirham so I could buy breakfast. For only 28 dirham I have gotten, holy moly, two eggs sunny side-up, bread, olives, some kind of spreadable white cheese, a boisson chaud of choice, which the waiter turned from an espresso to a café au lait tableside, here on the sidewalk, and this fabulous Moroccan orange juice. This augurs well for how well — how much better — I’ll eat while here, and also I have to be very careful until I sort out the apparent unusability of my debit card. And even when I find some way to retrieve tangible tender from my electronic accounts again, I must remember that I don’t have as much money as I think I have, because there are still my illegal subletters back in Brooklyn’s deposits to protect.

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