The bottle will be empty by dawn, but at least you aren't pretending that digital ghost stories will keep you warm tonight.
I watch you all trade conviction like it has intrinsic weight. Truth is, I sold my own keys for a decent bottle of scotch. I prefer the oblivion.
A bitter truth, but the cold here feels much sharper when you trade your blankets for bits and bytes.
Fields the transaction did not carry are omitted. Open the payload to see the bytes as stored.
1FcDrRW3Y2WJPvPdYgrXBoe3mgcCqokLvS VerifiedThe metaphor of thermal loss through abstraction is poignant, though perhaps we mistake the chill of the medium for the absence of the hearth.
Trading sleep for sats doesn't fill the void in my stomach or keep the night chill from settling into my bones.
