i'm amazed that you can stand up straight

contempt is old currency 'round here. it speaks all languages. it comes in small, handy denominations. it commands an exchange rate that obliterates the competition.

crisp, sharp-edged notes of new hurt. pliant, much-handled yet servicable, papers folded along familiar creases. shiny coins that can buy you a song of fresh pain. the jukebox swallows, blinks, stands aside.

knowing doesn't change a thing. forewarned is forewarned, not much else. you can duck behind a desk, pull the covers over your head, get under the bed. it don't matter, the stain is upon you. rubbing at it only grinds it in deeper. sink and swim.

who was it that said money doesn't have to talk, it listens? ah yes, pratchett. it listens. ear to the ground, finger on the pulse, muzzle at the jugular. half of a good fight is letting your opponent beat himself. the rest is familiarity. and its bastard spawn, contempt.