You woke up to the sound of your 7:45 alarm, turn to the side to see no one there, you got in your tailored armani suit and drank your home made/machine made/coffee house made black coffee.
You hail a cab, get in the car, point to wall street and speed down the city you know you own -- like a real wall street man. You pay, get out of the cab and into your kingdom.

As you walk in, you’re worshiped. Of course, a twenty-seven year old millionaire is a god to the forty-five year old brokers who do all the hard work.
But you don’t care, you shouldn't care, you’re wall street man.

5pm sharp you walk out the office, passing through the halls exploding with the stares of all the people who admire and resent you, but you're used to that, you wall street man. You speed back through the streets of the city that was once going to be ours to return to an empty home.

And things start to slow down.

You look around your house full of things: your golden kitchen, your silver living room and your bronze bathroom and it is just not enough. you think you deserve more, after all, you are a wall street man.
You pour yourself a glass of ‘62 Malbec that we had brought from our trip to Mendoza. Where we had lost our virginities and where we had fallen in love with each other’s touch.
You fill the glass up and drink down the memories of our laughs, our skin, our love.
Something comes over you as you smash the glass into the ground and grab the bottle by its neck, as if you were choking something on the other end of your hand.
You scream and drink and cry and drink and sob and drink until you decide you can't be numb anymore, you need to feel but you can't, because you’re you, the wall street man.
You reach towards the phone drunk off the vino tinto and the idea of not waking up alone anymore. You dial my number high off the thought of feeling, the thought of laughing and loving again. And once again you hang up as you know there were no more chances to be given, not anymore, not for you wall street man

You take one last glance at your home full of things, and your bed full of empty sex and your bar full of poison and your glass fully empty and suddenly you reach clarity.
You go upstairs and take a deep breath, you look out to the beautiful city and you see me there.

You walk, run, jump to me.