I reached into my billfold
to pay cash for coffee, black,
and reminisced about the days
when cash was the only currency.

Or pen and ink …
typewriters,
record players.

I remember the smell
of the coal-burning furnace
in my childhood home
and the excitement of delivery day
with coal rumbling down into the coal bin.

Trains on the track
going past our house.
Card catalogs.
Encyclopedias.

The cashier hands me my change
not knowing about my memories.
Or caring.