Riding around New York in a limousine, I see people standing in long lines. Everybody, from the poorest of the poor awaiting food, the recently laid off awaiting unemployment checks, to the college kids awaiting books or brews, to the most fabulous awaiting a most fabulous experience in a most fabulous and secret club.
I roll down the window and they shout obscenities at me. This is not an issue of money. I tell them I don't have any. I see them frown as I blur past at fifty miles an hour. I leave a long white echo in their eyeballs.
We sing, inside the limousine: "New York limousine, New York limousine, rakin' in the green, ridin' a big ol' New York limousine."
The truth is, though, we have simply commandeered this New York limousine for a night of pleasure before we face the rather dire mess we've made of things back in Newburgh, New York.
