11 Wall Street, Manhattan
I admit I am deeply distrustful of money-types and social climbers. There is something ignoble, insincere and with the whiff of inevitably catastrophe in the pursuit of something so far outside oneself, using human frailties like rungs in the ladder. I'll admit I fall in that rather plebeian swath of human type that distrusts, by nature, the non-craftsman, the thinker, the theoretician. These non-workers are connivers, spinning flimsy shams and ruse after plot, using my insecurities, abusing my obtusities. And yet, when I look around and see how many people fail to understand higher, grander concepts, driving themselves to dogmatic distrust of the broader perspective, of pragmatic ideals, I am ashamed of my distrust and my place as a shallow thinker in history. It is there, in that shame where the future begins.