As the cold autumn NYC winds are whistling outside, the hobos roast marshmallows over flaming barrels of garbage. While everyone sleeps in NYC, the sound of sanitation workers spitting on the cold cement run rampant. Janitors are busy mopping the floors of the NYSE, while listening to meringue music—ignorant to what had transpired there the day prior.
In the NYC subways, young criminals are riding the train looking for a few iPods to steal. God willing, they may find someone stupid enough to flash an iphone, if only life were that good.
All around NYC, people scrounge around with hunched backs, worrying about margin clerks and how they will be able to retire off of such little capital. The drug dealers in Washington Heights are upset over the sudden lack of rich white kids, who once flooded their neighborhood in BMW’s, looking for blow.
The mood is somber and the times are desperate.
Once well to do Wall Street bankers find themselves without pay for the 6th consecutive month. And fledgling stock brokers, with an arrogant book of business, are suddenly saddled with large losses and several meetings with the frolicking faggots from FINRA.
In some dark corners of the city, old Asian men sell gremlins to old white guys, in order to put food on the table. And at the local sperm bank, the lines are long and the literature appears worn.
There is a certain seriousness to the city, as men with ski masks flash 357’s on liquor store cashiers and pundits, with oversized heads and undersized brains, crowd the studios of Fox news to say NO to more government bailouts.
At the 24 hour Pathmark, men with bad habits and a lot of debt stock the shelves with peanut butter jars and make sure the produce section is stocked with fresh bok choy, for the old Asian men who enjoy eating it with dinner.
Inebriated single, middle aged, women hurry themselves home, following another night of nothingness. And, at the zoo, the retarded nice goat, named Leonardo, pecks away at Lester the monkey, as if he were made from grass.
And in a far away land, many miles away from where indigenous marshmallow lovers knife each other in the scrotum, over the “nice flaming barrel of garbage,” men eating bok choy are putting a bottom in the world equity markets.
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