Son of the French & Indian War, Wall Street

For the second time in three days I found myself in the bowels, the very intestinal processing plant, of capitalism. The real beating bladder of this country's aspirations. I thought again about banking, stocks, money and those enamored with these things. Then, wandering among the underground deadies at Trinity Church, I remembered the creation myths associated with my own family. How the Canadian side comes from a nun and a priest falling out of love with Jesus and in love with each other. How a Colonel George Washington once sent a poor grampa Stewart to the stockade for sleeping at his post. How someone somewhere along the line was Daniel Boone's "best friend." Of pharmacies and improprieties and traveling salesmen. These things are funny. What got me here is funny.


BigDan said...

There's that word again, 'deadies.'
By the way, did you know that someone on my dad's side of the family was an indian. It's true, but you wouldn't know it from looking at me.

Toddy said...

Sure I would. I mean, you look like every one fifty fourth part native american looks like. Except the aftican american ones. or the spanish american ones. or the asian american ones. and the other ones that don't look like you.

I put deadies in there for you.