Park and Fifth!

I guess I have been wondering lately. Who the hell are the people at the very, very, very top of our elite? I mean, the kind of people who judge each other on exactly what street on the Upper East Side. Exactly what town in the Hamptons. Exactly when in Martha's Vineyard. Exactly who in DC. The higher up you go, the more subtle and significant the gradations. Better to have a townhouse mansion or a triplex on the park?

Who are the most exalted amongst the exalted? The billionaires that intimidate the other billionaires? Who is the top? Are they lonely? Even with all that Bordeaux?

What could possibly motivate these people? Who so desperately needs to climb one position, from nine to eight, out of 300 million? What kind of soul could throw men and women, young and old, healthy and strong, off the side of a sinking ship only to achieve the momentary satisfaction of having the last piece of dry deck before death? Who will look over floating bodies in the moonlight, feet mere feet from the cold, smiling, glowing; post-orgasmic bliss?

If it is the case that all history is the history of class struggle, then it could also be seen as the story of a challenge: to find a way for psychopathic narcissists to satisfy their ambitions without destroying everyone else.