Wall Street | Matt Sterling (upanddown) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2011-08-19 21:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | wall street |
Chase me through the rain and scream my name, a childish game, but I love to be young
Who: Wall Street (upanddown); [Narrative]
What: Between ten and eleven in the morning, the DJI rises and nobody can explain why.
Where: NYC
When: 19 August 2011
Warnings: None
The sushi roll wrapped around a piece of rotten fish weeps and writhes. Wall Street, lying in bed, eyes wide open, unblinking, hears the echo of its agony. The wiener is next; less vocal than Asia but no less audible - a deep rumble, groaning like old, worn, wooden planks of a ship.
A sour tang clings to his tongue and no amount of toothpaste can wash it away but that's all right. It's familiar at least. His hands are tingling, are numb, and that, too, is familiar. Dressing in silence - he doesn't speak much these days - he decides he'll skip breakfast today. No big deal. Not a problem. What's one breakfast in a series of missed meals, eh? The clothes, whilst a little bit loose, still fit. Nobody will notice anything. Besides, he's fine. Those expecting another grand show of madness and ridiculousness will be sorely disappointed.
Why isn't Wall Street going mad? Well, because he's seen this one coming. The Double Dip is not just a malt shop he used to frequent in the past. Right now, it's a shadow toeing the line separating imagination from reality. In the car, he listens quietly to Capitalism - the sound of his voice, not the words - and rubs his fingertips across the soft leather of his seat.
Old stone, ten thousand years and you're still on your own.
Don't you love, don't you love me that way?
And then they arrive at the office, parting ways after entering, and Matt's gaze doesn't latch onto Shane's retreating back. He takes the echo of a barely audible sigh with him, though, and shuts the door before it can follow him into his office. It's his turn now. The weight of anxiety originating from half-way across the world is bearing down on his narrow shoulders but he shrugs it off with a smile.
Wall Street opens better than expected; the pressure eases up a little and turns into confusion when he jumps past the eleven thousand mark. See, world? We're doing fine. The small nudge turns into a shove and from then on it's just a matter of balance. Let's dance and fly together.
He could do this all day long. He isn't aware he's doing it.
Lost in memories, he stares at the pinwheels lined up by the window. Dinner at Le Cirque and La Grenouille - yes, he remembers those names and he can pronounce them properly, too, when he feels like it which he doesn't very often. Penguin documentaries, lipstick smears on shirt collars, the stink of too flowery perfume, green M&Ms, ice cream on a given Saturday, planning imaginary trips to Rome, going to the opera to listen to a fat lady (there was no fat lady) sing, tripping and falling down a flight of stairs...
A frown tugs at the corners of his mouth and he misses a step - he's never been a good dancer - and it all falls down. There are rules even Wall Street cannot break no matter how hard he tries. Because the world believes in Capitalism, will always believe in Capitalism even if it means watching itself fall to ruin.
He will forever be the youngest of them; the most unstable, the most capricious, the most illogical - but he will also be the most loyal until the end of days.
And honey, I was never gonna change.
And honey, you are never gonna change.
But you love, don't you love it that way?