Sunday, May 29, 2011

Roosevelt Roosevelt Jefferson

So I'm standing at the self-service bottle return, feeding empties into the machine one by one to the satisfying crunch and cymbal-splash of broken glass. I'm reaching down into the cardboard box that of late held a double dozen of Sam Adams longnecks, and I see at the bottom of the box there's some loose change. Two dimes and a nickel, in fact. And God help me, the first thought that occurs: Holy shit, they've been redeeming themselves while I'm not looking.

Which is pretty much how it should be, isn't it?

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