Once a billionaire you can’t be anything else
Shockingly thrifty or your origin story doesn’t matter
Laughter at the expense
Casual decisions make someone else die a little
You are a traitor to creation
less secret on the wooden floor
Trash separated and sorted
A bright sunny day means endless meetings
you’ll be tan anyway
The rat race is over
You won
It’s more like a please and thank you pile
in which the rats discuss the confusing nature of assets
with you as the love object
I like rats but I have never been one
Will the bank mow the lawns of the empty houses
The moral of folktales is to desire wealth
to love scarcity which is actual love
to leave in a carriage with a prince
who can’t tell the difference between a girl and bird
and wonder if we’re all one soul or isolated