Panama Papers. No bombshell there; we already knew that rich people were demons. But can you blame them. It’s natural to horde money, money is absolutely everything. Peace and oxygen. Path to legitimacy, and also pussy. Women declare that a man’s money doesn’t matter but in the next breath wish he’ll have straight white teeth. Same thing.
I was on Xuan Dieu Road by the lake and the ATM ate $180. Glitch with the dispenser thing. Might get it back, says Bank of America. Might, fucking might. In anywhere from 10 to 90 days. Stood there, letting the sun hit me, contemplating how some cosmic fluke, one loose spring in a plastic box could delete some of my value. I didn’t need the cash but it scared me to think about what if I had.
On the walk back there was an old man with black gums. First time I’ve seen someone literally wearing rags. I couldn’t look at him. His boils and oozing green toenails. He followed me, mimed eating soup. I gave him money. What I should have done is bought him food myself; the store clerks won’t let him inside.
If you think: well he was irresponsible earlier in life and it’s not my responsibility to correct that for him, then you are actually evil. Vapid cunts say: Money doesn’t matter! It’s only money! Get the fuck out of here. You have to eat, you have to see a doctor.
God let us run free and we fucked it all up. Let ten schemers take all the paper, and they’re not giving it back. The smarter you get, the clearer this becomes, the more you repair to the comforts of three-act narratives, because at least there the bad guys lose.
So, am I a bad guy. Well my first thought when I saw the beggar was that he’d make good blog material. So I’ve got potential.