|The seven sins challenge|
Day 3's microfic. Dear me, I am mean to my poor sinners, aren't I?
The stacks of money make the rooms smell musty, their coating of dust an attack on the sinuses of the unwary. Samuel revels in the itch and the sneezes as he lives in the tunnels between the piles.
Another year and the case will be closed, and he can start spending. The paper will become property; solid and profitable and his. He will leave this collapsing hovel and buy an apartment by the beach in Spain.
He sweats in the sunshine of his dreams as the lights sputter and short and the stacks begin to burn.