The Same Weight

Before half past seven the queue bent twice — Na Příkopě, Nekázanka, Senovážné — seven hundred metres of people who already held five thousand in their hands.

Some sat on chairs that fold. Some kept a blanket on the hours before the till.

Three notes each, cash only. Two faces pressed on paper that spends the same without them.

They waited for the ink. The note kept its weight either way.