"Daddy, what's a
dollar? What's a
dime?" She makes
him want to rip
his guts out.
"Why, they're
these super-tall
funnels that
start from a
few tiny spots
near the earth,
say about right
here, level with
the bottom of
your pretty
pink jeans,
and they
reach all
the way up
to heaven,
Sweetheart,"
he spits through
his gizzard just
to manage a mile-
wide smile, "and
they each have
an itty bitty sieve
at the very bottom
just above the dirt,
where only the
purest of spirits
can crawl through."
... [He pauses,
seems to reach
metaphorically
for something
he just can't get]
"Which they do,
if not often, at
least a time or
two. Or so I'm
told." Exhausted,
he slams the shovel
down further into
the drying earth.
