el 4to blanco

Falling wet snow clumps together creating elegant feather like drifts. The wind delicately pushes these white blurs along the street line, pushing them up over the store fronts and back into the gray sky. Scattered amoung the fresh soft snow, loose paper sways. These bills, thousands of bills: stolen, robbed, threatened, captured, like a kidnapping gone wrong. The faces of these bills: a missing person. But now they are lost in the snow bank, by the store fronts, drifting up and back into the sky. -Chayle