Every day, I gather fragments of information, recording them as checks in my memory bank. These checks, blanketing walls from floor to ceiling, represent the accumulation of information currency. But hidden on their backs, written in red ink, lies the cost: the attention, emotion, and energy each fragment demands. An LED ticker scrolls each transaction, while a mechanical voice announces credits earned and debits owed.

At what cost do I bank what I absorb? By depositing fragments of daily life as checks, I turn a personal ritual into a reflection on how we process—and are processed by—information overload. Perhaps the real gain is not in the instinct to gather more elsewhere, but in what arises from within.