emotional savings accounts

Johan steps on the accelerator and reaches over to the passenger seat. The car swerves, a bit, but this is not a concern, because it happens all the time. Johan pulls out wrinkled $20 bills. Johan throws them out the window and they flutter to the street so he pulls closer to the sidewalk and throws more, and these flutter closer to the sidewalk where the people can grab them. 

———-

Johan Fjordstrum is not his given name, but he thought Johan Fjordstrum was more exotic and interesting, so he had changed from Jonathan Fitzsimmons to Johan Fjordstrum. 

In 2002 he began coding his website/business - PoliDate, and online dating service for those interested in the geo-political realm. You would fill out a profile that focused on your views of a Palestinian state, campaign finance reform, tax code changes and rogue nuclear states (among others). You would then fill out a personality test, and the algorithm would match you with others that fit your view, or if you seemed argumentative, opposed your views. He sold this business quickly - for several million dollars. Johan had known that the site would become like every other dating site rapidly. And, it did. 

Within a year, it was filled with blurry, dark photos at off-kilter angles and grotesque human shapes. There was a growing herd of socially inept psychopaths, psychologically broken single mothers, and naive newly-single people sending awkward emails and questioning their life decisions. The buyers were not happy, but Johan had disappeared.

Johan had overestimated the efficacy of several million dollars in achieving the American Dream in the new reality, and Johan had underestimated the costs of paying people to find him attractive and emotionally available.

———-

He slows down a touch to avoid vehicular manslaughter chargers, and realizes that his bill supply is dwindling. This daily ritual - going on 7 months - was emptying his bank account with efficiency. 
Johan turns on the radio and sings a few bars of the latest Jason DeRulo song while flicking the remaining $20s. Now it was time to park the DeLorean and find a place to sleep. 

———-

Shortly after his windfall he had decided to live the life he dreamed of watching MTV as a teen. He paid for bottle service and dances. As most people could have told him, this was an empty existence and the people laughing around him were certainly not laughing with him. He would explain his latest business idea or thoughts on the latest Silicon Valley drama and they would shake their empty glasses, staring with vacant eyes and unconsciously expressing their crushing boredom with fidgeting knees barely covered by tacky skirts. 
After several months of this, Johan had decided to take a different track. He gave money to charitable causes and volunteered his time. Directors in bad suits kept eagerly inquiring about the next chick and plastic blondes touched his arm while they photographed a donation, before beating a hasty retreat to the cocktail table when the flash faded. 
It was some time after this that Johan bought his DeLorean and made his way across city after city, throwing bills to the world, never stopping long enough to be recognized or thanked, because Johan knew they didn’t mean it. 

———-

He laid down a cot and water from a moldy ceiling crashed down next to him. This was the life of a recently minted millionaire in America. 
The ping of the tin can alerted him that his bunkmate needed to use the facilities. 
Johan closed his eyes, and hoped that maybe he wouldn’t wake up in the morning.