Chicken a la Veracruzana: Me and My $30
I'm tapping numbers into a junky-looking ATM in the back corner of some random bodega that hugs the BQE. It's dropping those dollar bills down, one hundred, two hundred, as I get prepared to hand over some dear cash to the broker for a beautiful new apartment in Brooklyn, when I notice that I probably shouldn't probe the machine for any more.
I have thirty dollars.
Which is all well and...