How Much Space Does a Man Need?

I find it interesting that the richer you are the more goddamn space you take up. Palaces swallow acres, while the rest of us rot in the broom closets and cupboards of America. Yachts drag their fat bellies across the water while men claw for a door or a table— rats fighting for a plank in the shipwreck.

Isolated in your one seater limo while the rest of us, cram like beef in six-foot wide tin rectangles, breathing each other’s air, sweat, stench. What happens when one hoards wealth, like a gluttonous dragon?

When gold rots teeth like sugar, poisons a desire for intimacy, for proximity. The richer you are,

the more god. damn. space you take up!

All that money, and the first thing he buys is the right to forget

the rest of us exist.

To sprawl.

To spread out.

To stretch his legs

across the world

and call it business done well.

What gives them the right

to take up

so much

fucking

space.