penny pinching

Filled the Hoopty, my sister's van, up halfway with gas.

Why not all the way?

Because it's six degrees outside (Fahrenheit, which is like a million below zero Celsius).

The gas station attendant asked me, "Wheer are yer gloves?"

Oh, right, I guess I should go ahead and buy those now.

Crud. That costs money.

Oscar Wilde said that when bankers have dinner together, all they talk about it art. When artists feast together, all they talk about it money.

That's some consolation, I suppose, as I've become obsessed with the value (or lack thereof) of the American dollar.

betholindo at 9:36 p.m.

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