hey baby, wanna sit by the sewer?
The suits travel in packs of ten and speak in unison, a harmony of polished voices. They wear noiseless white shoes inside of which the feet have been erased. A very complicated style, invisible, everywhere.
The mind is money pouring in. One suit climbs up into a tree chanting the formula in his briefcase and the tree becomes a 50-foot tall translucent woman with engorged lips. They burst and out comes a flying V of cruise missiles. Riding each missile is an investment banker wearing a radiation-proof pinstripe suit. The investment bankers know voodoo and telekenisis. They are fearless. Here they come.
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