Have lain with them, men and women of the 1%, penis rise on command vaginal walls firm. Skin, muscle tone, clarity in the eye. Folding time back in Kentucky and they are as well tended as the most superb of horse and offspring. Stable, responsive, fun, icons of what the best of health care can do. Fearfull, odd dreads pop through the perfect skin, insecure in the almost knowing the injustice of their luck. They wake shakey and swesalvationating - a night terror of the unwashed hordes wanting, demanding the un-used food, decent care, common decencies, ragged, flaking diseased hands held out. I craddle them in my arms assure it is not luck but god's will they have all and more, a brandy and valium, some herion and they are O K and forget no god has blessed their never ending needs, it is the unwashed have paid for it. There is a shutter as they waver in calling up the security, private army to protect them , what if, what if they do respond, pretend not to get the call, remember the honour of their working class father-mother, turn their backs as the hunger ravages them?
They make their pay-offs to the charity and were they not so sure of their supremeacy, would drop and prey. prey for salvation, not from the beggars hands, pennies for cheap obvilion, but the fist of the awake hammering at the door demanding just this once could it not be as we have been sold.