a beggar sits in the street. were that his cup rattled with coin but alas, it holds only dust. the grand lady passes on her palanquin draped with black silks and heavy crepe. he knows where she is going: far, far away, to join the company of her sisters in god. but he does not expect her to pull aside her veil, and to look upon him. “old beggar,” she says, “what do you desire? my husband is— was rich in bitcoin, but i do not understand the ways of men…”
blessed are the poor in spirit, for they will inherit the bitcoin