He takes out a hundred, two fifties.
SWEET NOTHING BY LINDSAY SMITH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 103
A woman at the cash machine turns round to Harry. “There’s something up with this machine. It only does fifties.” She pulls out her card.
“Fifties is good,” Harry says. He takes out a hundred, two fifties. He smiles goodbye to the woman, stuffing the fifties in his pocket.
Harry crosses the road swinging his re-usable plastic shopping bag. An old man lying on a bench raises his hand, “Can you spare fifty?”
Harry drifts through a supermarket. They’re out of Vegemite.
At the checkout the blonde asks, “Did you watch the football at the weekend? That’s 14.85.”
Harry hands over a fifty. The checkout chick asks him, “You got anything smaller?”
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Harry is driving around the stadium looking for a park. He does a tight turn. The driveshaft falls out. The car grinds to a halt.
Harry can see the scoreboard from the driver’s seat. He can see who has scored a goal and the exact number of minutes and seconds …