THE FUTURE OF MONEY Bernard A. Lietaer - library.uniteddiversity ...

long as they could remember. Their mother had died in a car accident
just months after the birth of Todd. Their father was unemployed, but
the television, where he spent most of his time, always seemed to
work: The children cooked their own meals, consisting mostly of
cereal and of Tater Tots, deep fried potato scraps.
Todd's given name was Christine, but Jer, her cider brother, had
always wanted a younger Mother, so when they packed their few
possessions, Jer renamed his sister Todd. She had a thick mane of
blond, almost cream-coloured hair that cascaded to just below her
waist. She had a small body and high cheekbones that accented her
aquamarine eyes. She spoke seldom, and when she did, she was so
quiet that it almost hurt to listen to her. She used small fragile words
and never looked you in the eye. Jer on the other hand, when
speaking, used a barrage of cuss words while frantically flailing his
arms about as a way of assuring that his point was understood. He
would run his grimy hands through his fluorescent blue liberty
spikes, wads of hair that he glued into seven 6" points. He talked
about his dreams of setting his lip placed and blowing up the White
House with a Swiss army knife, dental Rose, and a match stick like
the TV hero and escape artist, McGiver.
Todd and Jeremy would sit on Haight Street for hours - Todd
quietly asking the people who passed by for a nickel or dime, Jer
harassing people for blocks for not giving them even a penny,
screaming, 'FUCK YOU!' as mothers and daughters, fathers and sons,
passed by them without even a glance. As night came they would
retreat back into the park, the place where they felt the safest. For
them, n was the beginning of the end of their lives.
'Deprived of any hope.
Taught they couldn't cope.
Slaves right from the start.
'Till death do them part.