Two quarters.  That's what it costs to buy a pop from a machine in Pennsylvania when I was growing up.  We coveted those two quarters, squirreled them away for when we might go to Quality or walk by the laundry mat.  Two quarters meant something.  Two quarters could get you a pop and fizz.
This morning, my middle child woke up and reported on the tooth fairy.  "What am I going to do with five dollars?  It's just so little."

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