Money Doesn’t Mean Anything To Me



Auntie Jane died.

First of all, I didn’t know I had an auntie, or that she was called Jane.

Nevermind, the half of my family is lost all around the globe, so that part didn’t surprised me.


She left me some money, my advocate said.  “Ok”, I replied, ” so what?”

“It’s a big amount of money”, he said excited.

“Ok”, I said once more, “so what?”

“”We are talking about one million dollars here!”, he said on a verge  of a nervous breakdown.

“Ok”, I repeated calmly, “so fucking what?”.


The silence. The look on his face which reminded me on one patient in a Psych ward, long ago. Psychotic.


“Will you take the money? There are no other ancestors except of you!”.


“Ok”, I said again, “I will”, I declared,  “but please, until tomorrow I want papers to be ready””.


Confused, he asked : “What papers? For what?”


“For the donations. I will e-mail you the list of the institutions and funds which I will give the money”.

“All of it?!”. Now he was almost shaking.

“Yes, all of it. Is there a problem?”.

“No..absolutely not…but I thought…you will…”.

“Keep it for myself”, I ended his sentence.

“Yes”, he said.

” No I want. The money makes no sense to me. Not anymore. See you tomorrow, with the papers on the table, all right?”.

With a face of confused lunatic,he just nodded without replying.


I exited that grey old building. The stink of the past made me sick.

Now I was perfectly ready for a cup of coffee, preferably while sitting on a bench in a park, and watching the birds fly freely around.

That would make my day, I concluded and agreed with myself.



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