From the Instrument.
There was a time I could make 50 cents go a long way. A bag of 25 cobbers. Or five potato scallops from the Greek seafood place. Or a whole heap of second-hand comics. Back then 50 cents was the high rollers' coin. Pimp money. That coin had real weight and presence. It gave a man … options.
I was thrilled to find I'd come into a lazy 50 at the end of my first year of high school, taped to a greeting, card by my home room teacher, a young and long-haired cove with an impish smile and an unrivalled back catalogue of bell-bottomed pants. I swear he had every pair that survived the great hippy purge at the end of the 1970s.