Keep me in your left breast pocket, Boss; bills neatly folded, ready to be spent. It's not like you're George Costanza, and you've sent your hard candies and three-year-old expired warranties to me to die. You know what your currency is, and how much of it you're willing to spend. I know you're concerned about recent news events, and so you're questioning your strategy of my strategic location - wondering if you should switch to a money belt, placed dangerously close to your liver, so that would-be thieves would have to shoot you in the gut for it.
Don't. Don't let yourself go there. Night-time robbers following you home from the opera will get what they want from you no matter where I am on your person. A money belt at your abdomen, silver coins in your pants pocket, a roll of bills stuffed into a sock: if hoodlums want these things, they will take them. Yes, keeping me in your left breast pocket makes the level of your wealth more visible and prone to beggars, and isn't the safest location for me if you're worried about truant children swarming you in a dark city street one night as you make your way home for supper. But the damage done from a potential mugging is less violent than if they go for your abdomen, or your pants pocket, or your sock: in those instances they would make away with more pieces of paper, words and numbers ambiguously - and ultimately meaninglessly - scrawled atop.
Keeping me clearly visible and easily accessible means you are less likely to be stabbed for my contents, leaving a trail of blood to follow you around like breadcrumbs, showing others where you've been, suggesting where you're going. You are less likely to be scarred during burglary; wounded forever, permanently, the mark of the beast burned forever into your forehead for all to see. And you are less likely to lose it all. Vultures are happy to get a dollar here, a toonie there, when they know they can come back to the well for more when they like. Keep your bills in a smelly state of wetness in your Asics and, well, the leeches just might want all of it, right then and there: What would you be left with?
No, Boss. Continue to keep me in your left breast pocket, close to your heart. Let others know how much capital is at your disposal. People are more likely to pass you over that way, and look to the person behind you to rob. Humans always search for the greater payoff; they're willing to risk everything to see what's behind door number three, even if the Vegas odds all point to a goat. That's the beauty and the tragedy of currency, Boss. Besides, in this day and age of wireless transaction, faceless and touch-less - and love-less - communication, the Big Banks insure everything; the most you'll ever be out is the first 50 bucks. And it takes more than that to purchase your favourite pair of Gap jeans, doesn't it?
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