Have you ever simply cashed a paycheck and walked away with ten-dollar bills?

The sensation of being totally vulnerable, like somebody can bump up against you and there goes one month’s worth of work, and one month’s worth of living off your savings.

The sensation of wad. Of pure unadulterated power of wad. You can fold it up and slip a money clip over it. You might lick your fingers and parse out a couple of bills. Yeah, Bills.

“Uh, yeah, I’d like only your finest. And I’ll probably slide a tip into your pocket.”

But what does one do with a wad of Bills? The sensation of unrefined fields of temptation.

There is something about taking a month’s earning into a bag, not a wallet (because it doesn’t fit) that makes you see the Life of Wad differently, what it is like like to hold that close to your body the result of all your movements, the distillation of your concerns and nightly obsession. Looking at it just a bit removed: oh, so this is what all that grammar was about; oh, so this is why I stayed up until two at night; oh, this is what result feels like. It makes you think about boiling sugar cane and purification processes that might leave you just a little heady. It makes you wonder about paper. About action. About paper action.

Give me the ATM machine, the slow accretion of spending, the sense of livelihood as one distance removed from life: abstraction: the epitome of work.