Adorkable

Waffle House Money

I burned a dollar bill on a subway train today

and watched people chase the ashes as

they blew away. They hung on seats, leaving

specks and streaks of black, useless currency.

I roasted a cigarette outside of a Waffle House

somewhere in Florida’s warm chest. I searched

for some dollars to tip the carnival waitress who

lovingly brought us our check. But it was ripped leather

and flannel liner…some credit cards long since

expired. Dust on the speedometer gets us there

faster. We kicked up Waffle House dust as we left.

I burned a dollar bill on a line between two states…

and my feet never touched the ground. I was never

any place. Just the wind with charred paper dancing

on it…settling while I make heavy decisions.