“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.

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