why I didn't write it anymore...

I wanted to write a piece. A piece call Five 'O Five. I had already drafted parts of it, then I thought again. Don't be pulled, I do this. Always. It's periodic. It was a piece about your state, in guise of denominations. Two denominations. The Five and Five hundred Naira (now it is plain).
It had something about them being brown and pink. one being scarce where the other is. There was some gibberish about oil rigs, leaders, the token of the blank heart (wtfever that means). Then, there's some stuff like the dancers and an inspiration: the change of a prince (wtfever that means). Polymer for the barbaric, Paper for the selfish. See a size difference, style difference, see a lot, see through the logo, see it tell in pockets, see it swell some wallets, see it sell, see it well (wtfever...). There's a part about the two classes of folks in Nigeria. The masses and the masters. The masses who follow. The masters who master. The masses who obey what instructions they can inteprete just because the masters say it right. If five is folded in five (one in the other) you wouldn't see or know it is there. That's oppression if you ask yourself. Then there's the issue of the burning fire. How five starts to reacts by being close and five don't feel it except it's in it. There was a line about being in the middle. And a rubber band personified to be in the middle (how ironic). Also people, also there was something about one being a hundred times more buttered-mint and how a sniff can confirm it. There are somethings about five that five doesn't know, but five knows everything about five (complain about the missing points, that's all that can be done). Then, there are other issues I couldn't present. There happen to be a third class of folks (were you following? better not be). And there people, is why...