Let's say you had a stash of crisp, new 100 dollar bills, unwrinkled, so if stacked on the table they'd make a compact brick. Turn the brick on its side as if to file the bills in an index file drawer. Only you've got more 100 dollar bills than will fit into a card file drawer, so you improvise by just setting them between two bookends, increasing the distance between the bookends until you run out of bills. After a few hours of tucking wads of bills into the stack beween bookends, you're long out of the house and onto the sidewalk, the distance beween the bookends having grown to well over a mile. More than a mile of 100 dollar bills, compressed between heavy bookends, is a lot of money. But your store of them is not yet exhausted; you keep going, pushing the distance between those bookends further and further apart. Finally, at a trillion dollars, 10 billion 100 dollar bills, you stop. What would be the cab fare to take you back home to the first bookend? Would you need a bath and a shave? The distance between the bookends, if pressed by hydraulic pressure to squeeze out all the air, would be within a few hundred feet of the distance between San Francisco International Airport and Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, 679 miles great circle distance. That's a trillion, a 100 dollars at a time. In one dollar bills you'd be out into space, a quarter of the way to the moon.