Why Are You Here?

“We’re extraordinarily rich. We’re the top one percent you see, and we’re quite pleased with how things are going, so. We just thought we’d let you know. Thanks.”

“Yes! We support everything that’s happening! Long live capitalism!”

“We are staunch supporters of capitalism.”

We were standing in the median dividing the West End from a Leeann Chin; Maggie was taking her turn blindfolded and wandering the median with her poster, and I stood jovially at the edge with my “Feudalism Works (Even If I Don’t)” sign. We were speaking entirely in our “wealthy” voices (which just got progressively more British as the evening progressed). Oh I do love things! It’s so marvelous to own so many of them! Thank you for the bailout, the investments are going splendidly!

The woman in the crosswalk’s head cocked like a dalmatian’s. “Capitalism?”

“Yes! We’ve done so well by it.”


“Tip top! Is that a thing we say? Tip top!”

“What’s capitalism?” she asked.

“HA!” I broke.

Then, “oh, wait, I’m sorry, are you serious?”

“Whatever, I have to go. I’ll look that one up when I get home. You guys have fun.”

I turned and stared at Maggie, who was now teetering on the edge of the curb as traffic rushed by, the chiffon blindfold around her eyes beginning to slip. “Well this is one of the nuttier things I’ve ever done,” I said.

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