No one throws coins into a fountain from which they may be easily retrieved. There must be room for the presumption of absolute loss, to mankind as well as yourself, as if they were sacrificial dolls thrown into a smoking South American volcano. But the descending arc of that puppet, the sound of a coin rattling down a deep well is a transient thrill, while in the broad but shallow fountain the sacrifice remains visible, and this is utterly compelling for those who wish to relish their sacrifice and, perhaps this is crucial, advertise it to others. Five minutes is enough.