Exactly two years ago, the peregrinations of my dismantled life style had led me to being a banker. White collar, dark suit, italian shoes and short hair in the back of the head. I had it all. I was a success.
The power was exhilerating. All those little nobodies struggling through life, begging for mortgages. I had the power to make their dreams come true. I had the power to destroy them. Little puppets. Dance, obey my voice. Listen to your master. It was good.
The good looking ones were lucky. All they had to do was to sex me up and bam, here's the money. Life was easy.
Today sometimes my cellmate forces me to put lipstick on before he abuses me.
I guess it is one of life twists we like to call irony.
