Kotchen Cash

 

The Kotchen’s are a family of lawyers who used to live in my house. Now they live down the street and I live in the house. Lovely people, I met them once when they visited. They said they just wanted to say goodbye to their old home, since they were moved out by friends during covid when they were stuck in Argentina…or Spain. They went from room to room, a happy family giddy to see what we had done to the place in their absence—the boys room now a playroom for my son, the daughter’s room my studio space, it was different and I can imagine weird for them. The things is, I’m ON TO YOU KOTCHENS!

I know why you really visited. You were looking for your BUCKET-O-CASH. I found it, abandoned behind the garage—a hardware store bucket filled with filthy lucre—and it is mine. Things you also left behind: a mink stole in the upstairs closet, a giant Rottweiler-sized kennel filled with dog turds in the garage attic, a pink bra in a drawer in the daughters bedroom that I tried on, and cash fucking money.

I feel like there’s something to be said about the state of the dollar in a pile of rotting coins with an American flag on the bucket. But honestly, just shut up and listen to this sweet, sweet SLO-MO.