It was a sunny day, hot for my part of the People's Republic of California. I was walking along, minding my own business, when Satan herself appeared in a little 3-wheeled cart. Well, alright, not quite Satan. She was the meter maid. She stopped right next to me, in front of a car with an expired meter. The owners came out to argue, and alas, there was nothing I could do. Then, I came upon, not 15 yards from the first, another with an expired meter, sure to be the meter maid's next victim.
I had a choice to make. She had seen me, she knew I was there. I would have to be quick, timely. I faked walking away. She looked away, chatting on her walkie talkie. I drew the weapons of revolt: a serrated dime and a heavy, blunt nickel, all the change I had. I dropped them into the meter, giving whoever it was 9 minutes of reprive. Retreating to a distance, it became evident that this meter maid had been aware of this expired meter, her unholy eyes keen to any trace of red along her path. She went to it, looked confused, checked the time remaining... and drove away. A victory for righteousness!
Know that I did this not for the car's owner. No, they were merely people who did not mind the time; fools, I daresay. No, I did it not for them, but to deny our own little Leviathan its $35, and to rebel, to defy the law that says I cannot use my money in this way. They got my 15 cents, but lost my obedience, a far more valuable asset to them than their pretend money. I know, as should you, that they do not care for the money in the meters. A ticket is far more lucrative for the city than are the coins. It may seem petty, but if enough of us do these little things, these little rebellions, than weakened indeed will be the edifice of power. Death by a thousand cuts is still death, is it not?