do you believe in curses?

They finally did you in. The cyber currency is no good anymore. It's back to the non-existent donations of your fan clientelle and obscure arabic nicknames. The bread won't pay itself and neither will the bandwidth soft-lock on your head2jack socket. You could ask around the gopher circles how to circumvent it, but it would need to be paid for first. The price for freedom is not collected in warm words. Back to the outside again. The streets do not greet you, they despise what you have become. The asphalt just about melts underneath your each step. Just about. At least you are still free. Free as in...?

It's not easy, but you wrestle a silver coin from the grasp of another cyberist. You almost get yourself stabbed in between the ribs, but the floppy in your chest pocket diverts the penetrative strike. Now what? It's a good thing _she_ is no longer here to see you struggle so. Memories of kissing under the autumn trees begin flooding in, but are quickly dismissed by a sharp-nosed character in purple robes quickly approaching.

"Hey kid, check this out!" He calls to you and without any expectation hands you a card. 'New Cyberia Coin Laundry.' You promptly recognize the address beneath. It's the weird part of town. The part of town your mother would have warned you about, were she aware of what you were doing. No matter, nothing to lose but a single coin that never really belonged to you.