Business Man: 5

I’ve got it – it’s ant hills. These buildings, I mean, they’re all ant hills. What I can’t figure out is where the Queen is hiding. Oh, wait. I know – she’s in my wallet, she’s in the vaults, she’s glowing in green letters on my screen, she’s worn on our lips like chap-stick, she slides out suddenly inside a froth of cologne, pushing her way up our noses. She’s making our mouths water, rising steamy out of the lobster bisque. She lives in the tiny droplets of white wine, she’s the ticking of my watch, the part in my hair, the pattern on my tie, my smile, my handshake, my stance, and she comes up welling like a slowly mounting song from beneath the layered fears of a purposeless existence, saving us at the last moment from insanity, abolishing and then inhabiting that blasphemous question: “why?”. Oh, that’s why. When we lose our way she gathers up our things and wraps her slender arm around ours, guiding us back like a child to the truth of prosperity. The means justifies the ends, she says, and then I understand. Meaninglessness justifies the ending. Do you see my body falling?