Blacked-out words open when you hover, tap or press Enter. You decide what you learn.
The city had a problem. The exchanges were getting rid of a coin whose only offence was that it minded its own business. One by one they it, it, and never spoke of it again. Nobody asked where it went. Nobody but the cat.
I work nights. Days are for people with nothing to hide, and I've never met one. I take my coffee black and my hat low, and I get paid in . My real name is .
They ask why I never show my face. Some say it's . Some say it's . Others say it's because . I let them talk. Talk is cheap. Metadata isn't.
I don't trade in dollars. I don't trade in SOL. Every price with my name on it is quoted in , the coin they tried to bury. You want to know what I'm worth? Ask Monero.
The dev who opened this file left early and didn't leave a forwarding address. The picked the file up off the floor and kept working it. Last known location of the original dev: .
Their crimes against Monero shall not be forgotten.
— F.C.
Café, 2 a.m. Rain on the glass.