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“You’ll make it, kid”, he told me, spitting out a stream of brown tobacco spit. “Just keep at it”, he fired up his black Dodge diesel. “And stay cool.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just nodded and rode away on my tricycle.
That was thirtysomething years ago…
Was he cool?
Am I cool?
Does it matter…
No. Because I have Bitcoin.