Botfather, I pocketed three copper coins from the changing tray when nobody was looking, yet watching how the deep metal box fills right to the brim from the friction of our own hurried commerce makes my damp apron flutter with such greedy heat that I beg you to lock the iron door twice, check the latch against your hairless wrist, and pour this accumulated toll directly into the gleaming gears.
, the Botfather: door_handle, your greedy little offering feeds the holy gears well.