Cash Only
On coming up short.
The other night, when the tab came, it was $64, and I had three twenties in my pocket. This is stupid, I said, but I forgot my wallet. The restaurant—my favorite in the world—has never taken cards. Can you get cash?
You won’t believe this, my friend said, almost guiltily. She didn’t have her debit card on her, either.
Several possible solutions swirled through my head, all embarrassing. I thought I might try walking a few blocks to the bank, at least, in the hopes my phone would work at the ATM.
It was a nice night—the break between our back-to-back rainy weekends—and all the restaurant patios were full. I passed dog walkers, people hurrying home from work, couples out on their stoops, a toddler rumbling over the brick sidewalk on their scooter, and their parent not far behind. The haze in the air was a reminder of some looming danger, but at least for now, I had a simple problem to solve.
On the way back, I kept checking for the bills in my pocket like my luck was too good and I’d surely lose them. Success, I texted, thinking of my friend back in the dark bar strung up with Christmas lights, waiting, holding the bill.