ambitious_wench

In a young man's dream, he takes a garden rake to the powdery surface of the moon.

He toils for a long afternoon, bringing in bars and bricks of pure gold which has somehow been conveniently molded and assayed and stamped; rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and other precious stones the size of his fist, already prepared and precision cut. He dumps these into his wagon. Towing his wagon back to the ready infrastructure required to bring these things home, tears form in his eyes, and he thinks: "Finally, I will no longer have to worry about money."

In 2025, a middle-aged man wearing dusty shoes and discount attire leaves his 1953-built apartment to take out the garbage. He pauses for a moment to look at the full moon, and he thinks: "Sorry, but like most others, you will always have to worry about money."