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The Envelope
I landed in the evening with one envelope of cash and a card I did not want to use yet. At the airport, a bright exchange desk stood beside the exit. The numbers on its board looked worse than the numbers I remembered from my bank at home, so I kept walking. I wanted that envelope to last until morning. I wanted a bank in the city, not the bright desk at the airport. Tonight the envelope had to pay for dinner and for the ride to my bed.
A taxi driver raised his hand. I shook my head and looked for the bus. The ride was long enough for the city to turn its lights on. When I paid for the ticket, I wrote "bus" in a small notebook before I sat down. The word on the page made the envelope feel smaller and more real.