Demographics in ascending order:
she’s statistically a
house she’s filled the fuck up
with trinkets and stuff you can’t take with you bought on the back of a Trojan horse, only courtship with the corpse of capitalist love.
He votes for
because Wall Street lost its
moxy obnoxiously buying out the Establishment.
Stock broker and her drug habit,
celebrity dabbling in fashion lines,
whoever’s dick they’re sucking after gold-plated luncheons, and the Man it belongs to.
And there’s you and me, somewhere near the bottom with the ninety nine percent; not quite the hoarder, maybe activists when weather permits. Paycheque to paycheque,
life moving rock or cocaine.
The result is the same,
megabytes of vice, so they can advertise our shame, tailor-made for
whatever kind of survivor you
set out to be.