The $20 Theory of the Universe
Forget the other bills. The single won’t get you much more than a stiff nod and, these days, the fin is de rigueur. A tenner is a nice thought, but it’s also a message that you’re a Wal-Mart shopper, too cheap for the real deal. A twenty, placed in the right hand at the right moment, makes things happen. It gets you past the rope, beyond the door, into the secret files. The twenty hastens and chastens, beckons and tugs. The twenty, you see, is a verb. It’s all about action.
And me, well, I’m all about action, too, because I am the original twenty-dollar millionaire. Give me a stack of twenties and I’ll pass them off as well as any mogul. Maybe better. My fortune rises and falls with the double sawbuck. And because of that, I’ve always wanted to test myself, to establish the weight and worth of a twenty in the world. So last month I took two grand in twenties, rolled them up, and left for New York. I was going to spend three days greasing palms from gate to gate and see what it got me.
