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I was sipping a soda at the 21
Club last Thursday night, waiting for my friends to arrive. (We thought it
would be fun to have a drink, however expensive, at one of New York’s most
exclusive clubs.) Across the carpet from me, two middle-aged gentlemen,
dressed in three-piece suits were facing each other. They sat cross-legged on
plush leather chairs. A small table stood between them, but the empty glasses
of scotch sitting on it were bringing them together. In the 30 minutes I
waited, the men downed three tumblers each.
One hundred million dollars in Indonesian baby bonds
was the topic of their discussion. I think that’s what they said. Maybe they
said Barry Bonds. Some kind of bonds. While I don’t know nuthin bout
financin no countries, I do know $100,000,000 when I hear it.
Some kind of deal was concluded that night. The men
shook hands and smiled. "I’m happy with this," the first one
grinned. "I am, too," replied the other.
My drunken decisions usually result in a wall getting
urinated upon or a foreign tongue getting wrestled. The ripple effects are
small. When looped men at the top of the pyramid take action, remote villages
disappear, the price of unleaded gasoline goes up by fifty cents, and suddenly
there’s a worldwide shortage of aluminum siding.
Broadway Jim Sosnicky
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