Grandad’s Cash Stash: A Tale of Privacy, Paranoia, and 🕵️♂️ Cypherpunk Dreams

As we meandered through his house, he gestured toward an off-white wall, its companion a sofa so uncomfortable it seemed to mock the very notion of repose. This monstrosity of furniture had not budged in over a decade, a silent sentinel of ugliness. The wall, however, held secrets. A small square door, when pressed, revealed a crawl space-a time capsule of sorts. Inside lay relics of the 1970s: gnawed board games, forgotten documents, and the faint scent of mildew. It was as if he’d prepared for a winter that never came. 🕰️




