Twenty twenties flying around me. There is an open gate that lets our life-savings out into the check-cashing building.
A black man approaches. There are many black people. We are the only white ones.
"Baby boy!" says the black man. "You're about to get smashed!"
But he doesn't smash me. My hands are shaking. I'm shaking all over, grabbing the bills mid-air, sweeping them up off the floor, and cramming them into my wallet.
People are only allowed to pull up to a thousand dollars out for a Western Union money order. That's what I mean by twenty twenties. Because the bank puts a cap on your account. Musette is in line, talking to the Asian man. We can not hear him through his window. We are shouting. I'm telling her, "I could only pull out four hundred."
We get a money order for nine hundred.