The scene -
It was a beautiful and crisp afternoon today on Wall Street, the heart of America's financial empire. Outside, at 6PM, the street was jumping with people leaving work. They were busily striding along, clutching expensive leather briefcases and purses. Walking out of my building facing Wall Street, I caught the beautiful sight of a tricked out Dodge Viper behind the security gate, like a leopard waiting to be let out of its cage for the hunt. It's sleek lines where accented by a beautiful custom paint job with racing stripes. The purr of its powerful motor was oddly soothing and it seemed almost ready to leap out, unrestrained. Men paused in their travels to admire the finely tuned mechanical object and perhaps dream about the day when they could own something so fine. Women paused to look at the handsome young Indian man behind the wheel. He was dressed in a finely tailored suit, wearing a red power tie and wrap-around sunglasses which might easily cost as much as the car. His hands were taut around the wheel gripping the fine leather while wrapped up in equally fine driving gloves. All he was missing to look more dashing was a long driving scarf and a cigarette holder. It was the picture of power, beauty and grace, as defined by the monied men of Wall Street.
The music playing loudly on his radio -
Michael Jackson's "The Way You Make Me Feel"
And that, my friends, is a dichotomy. Only in New York kids, only in New York.