I meant to grab the money and run. As the dollar bills landed in my hand, I felt a twinge, a farting noise it made. The face of Andrew Jackson squinted.
Dollars don’t fart, claimed the bank teller.
Listen, I instructed him. He rolled his eyes. The volume of the bank’s interior suddenly rose and so he wasn’t able to hear the gurgle, brap, frap! of the bills. I shrugged, decided to argue about things and then just stuck them in my pocket.
My wallet warbled. I tried to embarrass my wallet, to be quiet.
Wallets are teenagers. It’s impossible to embarrass them other than with other wallets. So I grabbed more wallets. The alpha wallet roared, shutting up the the lesser wallets.
Only noise, only threat. Not farting.