I rubbed my hands together as I started walking back where I’d just come from, feeling the cold seeping into them. I really needed to have prepared better for this. Gloves, scarf, maybe even earmuffs—a hat would truly mean the end of my waves. But I was only now realizing that when I’d been to the city in winter in the past, it had involved going from train to cab to restaurant to theater, then back again. My parents had always figured out which trains to take, and if it was far, they usually just decided to get a cab or an Uber. Or we’d drive into the city—we had certain garages we always used in the theater district, and my dad would duck out when the curtain call started, so that by the time we got to the car it was warmed up, seats heated and ready to go as we drove home across the bridge to Connecticut.

As I headed in what I now knew was the right way, I passed a fruit vendor on the corner—BANANAS 75 CENTS—and wished I hadn’t used all my change to call home. But just seeing the fruit was enough to make my stomach rumble, and I realized how hungry I was. I remembered there was a bodega I’d passed on this street, and suddenly a soda and a bag of chips sounded not just good but necessary. And surely they would take my hundred. Because at some point, it wasn’t even like your change would be so much that it would be a problem to take it. Like if I was buying eighty dollars’ worth of stuff, they wouldn’t have an issue with it then, right? I also wasn’t entirely sure it was possible to spend that much at a bodega—it wasn’t like it was a Target. But surely it would be okay.

“No hundreds,” the bored-looking guy behind the counter said. He looked like he was a few years older than me, maybe in college. He had been highlighting a textbook and only set down his highlighter with real reluctance when I’d approached with my armful of stuff.

“Oh,” I said, looking at what I’d set down—a bottle of Diet Dr Pepper, Cool Ranch Doritos, peanut butter M&Ms, and a pack of gum. “Um, this is all I have,” I said, nudging the hundred a little closer to him. If I never saw Ben Franklin’s face again after tonight, I would honestly not be upset about it. “Can you make an exception?” I smiled at him, trying my best not to look like a counterfeiter.

“No. Hundreds,” he said more slowly this time, tapping on a paper underneath the glass counter: NO BILLS OVER $20 ACCEPTED.

“Right,” I said, nodding. I pulled the bill back, looking with real reluctance at my snacks. “Would it help if I bought more stuff?”