I am waiting for this key. And the contents of the box to which it belongs. The money will smell clean and crisp and the cool coins will slip through my fingers singing to me of the power and fluidity within the weight of them. The little tag will bear my name, and hold my future. The string will be bright red, tiny, silken, waving in the breeze below my fingers as I hold the key to the lock. The lock which stands between me and my lack of debt. The lock which betrays my needs, deaf to my plight, my burgeoning credit card bills.