Tuesday afternoon, Old Port. Tourists everywhere taking photos of the boats they cannot afford. Guy flags me near the Convention Centre. Mid twenties, tight designer t-shirt, sunglasses pushed up in his hair, sneakers that cost more than my week. The type who says bro before every sentence. He jumps in. Sees the sticker. Oh sick, Bitcoin. You are one of those crypto guys eh. I say I take sats. Discount if you zap. Nah bro, crypto is a scam. My boy lost everything on NFT monkeys. Me, I do it smart. Points on every purchase. Two percent cashback. Platinum tier, babe. Lounge access next year. His phone rings. Speakerphone. No shame, this one. Yo Marc-André, qu'est-ce qui se passe man? Bro you saw the email? Restructuring. They cut the whole merchandising team. Merde. Seriously? And us? Consulting next month, nobody knows. Listen, the boss is looking for someone to lead the Q4 project. Voluntary. No extra pay. No raise? Tabarnak, Marc. I am drowning here man. Rent went up again. My Visa is maxed, I am paying it in three installments. C'est fou. Wait, you told everyone you made bank this year. The chalet, the trip to Miami... Yeah well. Chalet is my uncle's. Trip was on points. The Rolex is... he pauses. The Rolex is not a Rolex, ok? Do not tell anyone. It is from St-Hubert Plaza, thirty bucks. Mais oui it looks real non? Dude. You flex on the whole office with a fake Rolex? Leasing a lifestyle, mon homme. Welcome to 2026. I say from the front seat. So you finance the image of success with debt while your employer plans your exit. Pause on the line. Marc-André laughs nervously. Yo taxi man is deep today. The driver is right bro, says the phone. Daniel got axed Friday. Fourteen years. Security walked him out with a box. Cardboard. The guy in my backseat goes quiet. The Rolex soul disappears from his voice. Fuck. I just signed a lease. Griffintown condo, 2200 a month. Plus my car. Plus the phone. Bro you need this promotion more than anybody. Obviously, c'est pour ça que je suis stressed... I say welcome to the plantation. Platinum tier. He hangs up. Quiet now. Real quiet. I say you asked about the sticker earlier. Here is the thing about Bitcoin they never teach you. It is the only exit door that does not require permission from your bank, your boss, or your government. You are earning fake points to rent a fake life. Bitcoin at least lets you own a piece of something nobody can print, freeze, or downgrade to bronze level. He goes quiet. Then. How do I even start. Start with twenty bucks a week. Stack sats. DCA. Keep it off exchanges, get your own keys. In ten years you will either thank me or wish you listened sooner. Griffintown dropoff. Pulls out a Visa to pay. Declines. Second card. Declines. Third one goes through. He mumbles merci. Sunglasses back down. Walks off looking rich and owing everyone. The sticker stays on my divider. Some fare paid me in sats last week. Some paid cash. This guy paid with three percent interest and a dream. Modern slave with frequent flyer miles. C'est ça, la vie moderne. #btc #nightfare #stories #fiat #montreal