clean money.

I ran out of gas for the second time this week on Saturday evening.

I ran out right in front of my house.

I forgot the following morning, as I was leaving for work. When I tried to start the Stratus, she just rumbled and rejected.

So I rode my bicycle instead. On the way home, I clutched my little purse in one hand, letting my cash tips make the ride in my right pocket.

I went to leave the house that evening to get some necessities at Walgreen's, not getting far, as I couldn't find the cash I had made.

The clothes were in the wash, and it was my hope that the cash was too.

I rolled up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, and stuck my hands in the soapy water, fishing for cash. I didn't feel anything.

I went upstairs, sat, and ate some potatoes.

Either my money was on the road between my work and my home, in the pocket of a lucky stranger that happened upon it while walking between my work and my home, or getting really clean with the rest of my clothing.

I sat on the couch, at a loss, with no control over my potential loss. I had to wait until the water drained. I waited, feeling the weight of no control.

I sauntered down the stairs a half an hour later, to the sound of silence in the laundry room. The cycle had finished, literally.

I opened the lid, fumbled through clean wet clothes, and eventually came to a soaking wet wad of cash.

Cheers to happy endings, post lack of control enveloped in ambiguity.