Dollar Bill, The Four Quarter Gentlemen

“The mistake I am glad I made is,” the quarter gentlemen collected his thoughts, “the wrong turn decision, going left instead of right.”

“Playing the heart card at the club, she wanted diamonds, and you provided the shovel,” an invisible mindful moral voice added, appearing from the dark path, intersecting at Dollar Bill’s emotional interchange, wanting him to get off at the next rest stop.

“A fair challenge, I say,” the nickeling and diming legendary character plodding his way through life’s pages, filling a rainy-day savings jar, clearly stated.

It was a pitch-black night, moonlight blocked by loitering clouds, and a threatening weather temper tantrum episode, terrorized the early evening hour, leaving a distrustful taste in Dollar Bill’s mouth.

“Are you single?” A lady smoking a cigarette curiously approached the pinstriped executive, researching business partners.

“No,” Dollar Bill paused, “I am twenty.”

“Well, I am looking to have a nice exchange rate with a hundred.”

Brushing by the transaction temptation, Dollar Bill continued through the social establishment’s flashy seedy side door, “good to see you, Dollar Bill?”

“I have a machine if you want a coin operation staged,” informed a friendly gesture.

Despite hearing the healthy routine offer before, the way the stranger presented the surgical theories lured him into a costly conversation.

“What type of profitable procedure would a quarter gentlemen need, if he already nickels and dimes things,” Bill philosophized to the candy girl.

“Maybe a penny for your thoughts,”

“And if I give you five, I would be back to a nickel,”

“And ten would make a dime,” the candy girl quickly calculated the math.

Suddenly a large figure emerged, “and hundred would make you single, Dollar Bill,”

“Washington, how are you?” Dollar Bill turned around and greeted.

“Just doing some time here, Lincoln’s town car is taking me to the General Buck store,”

“Need a cheap thrill, Washington?”

Smirking the larger-than-life figure left the scene, allowing the candy girl to revisit, “I can give you two half dollars for one bill, Bill,” she offered.

“That sounds like a nice proposition, but I will take four quarters and stay the glossy photogenic gentlemen.”

Green paper obtained the candy girl dispensed silver pieces worth twenty-five, handing them to the customer. Shaking the silver bits, Dollar Bill found teasing entertainment provided by the proprietor. “Space Invaders,” he thought inserting one token, feeding the arcade slot.

As the enemy masses descended upon his artificial intelligence army Dollar Bill tried to fend off the attack, but they kept coming one line after another, “I am not doing very well today,” an upset feeling plagued his stomach until the candy girl purposely bumped the computer competitor, using a flirtatious style.

“Do you need more change?” She inquired.

No longer interested in saving his score Bill took his eyes off the survival game, “I need a nice lifelong investment I can count on,” he pleaded into an honest facial expression staring into his financially secure eyes.

Months later, deal complete, Dollar Bill’s golden trophy prize marched down the aisle modeling a fashionable white ensemble, sealing the matrimony commitment answering ceremoniously, ‘I do’.

Later that night, sweating due to the heated tradition just performed, Bill asked his bride, “who do we owe now?”

And she responded, “well there are the caters, then venue, and my parents.”

“What do we owe your parents?” Dollar Bill seemed confused.

“After we cut the cake, they noticed we both needed to lose a few pounds and decided that was a practical solution following their transfer of power, that created our nice family account deposit, waiting growth potential through tender loving care.”