Earlier that night, hungry and tired, the man split his last $50 between a bucket of chicken and the copay for a new mega-tranquilizer. Lying awake, burping, and more anxious than ever, he begins to think he’s been had. When sleep finally comes it is a compromised somnolence marked by bad dreams, swallowing seas and great cracks in the earth opening under his feet.
At first light he feels it immediately, a change in the air, the lifting of a great many pounds. He hurries out the front door. A bustle and buzz attends everything he sees. Stepping up to the landing, a golden haired youth hands him a paper.
“But I don’t subscribe to this paper.”
“Don’t worry, no one does anymore. Not that way. Not the old way.”
The man’s never seen this many people in his neighborhood, all of them, frankly, as jaunty and free floating as quicksilver.
A choir of street barkers and pin-striped bondsmen stroll arm-in-arm down the cobbles singing:
We let go at the very first hint,
Foresake the Dow!
The man calls out to the paper bearer who has yet to turn back into
“The money’s gone, that’s what. We’re free. Free at last. Thank God