Cointrol.

I'd forgotten that this was a thing I used to do. Spent about six years collecting £31.50. From the Saturday lunch trips between GCSE library sessions which filled up the pot bellied teddy bank, to the Tesco trips that necessitated the BANK jar Amy (or/and James) created in our second year uni house. Minus last year because of the box of cents worth about €9 that I gave to a friend before moving back to England, and this year, because I'd forgotten it was a thing that I used to do.

My hands reeked afterwards. That smell of them reacting in all the hands of all the people who've held them, how one could have made its way back to you or been in the hands of someone you know, before you knew them, and you'd just never know. It wasn't a whole lot less disconcerting to think of the eight years they've stopped their journey with me, and whether that can be transferred somehow, as a metaphor how little it sometimes feels has changed, but how much has.

I guess it could be cathartic, letting them go?