Money is such a treat. It takes up so little space. It takes no more ink for the bank to print $9,998 than to print $1,001. It flows, electronically; it does not gather dust. Like water, it (dis)solves everything. Oceanic, it is yet as lucid as a mountain pool; the depositor can see clear to the sandy bottom. It is ubiquitous and under pressure, yet pennies don't drip from faucets.
Money is so tidy, so neat.
It is freedom in action: when you give a twenty-buck bill to the cabbie, you don't tell him how to spend it. He can blow it on coke, for all you care. All you care about is your change. No wonder the ex-Communists are dizzy. In the old Soviet Union there was nothing to buy, nothing to spend. It was freedom of a kind, but not our kind. We need money, the dull electric thrill when the automatic teller spits out the disposable receipt.