FRED MOVED TO MGM
My movie-money-guy friend is spending his
time at sea : standing forth on water, and silent
he be. I haven't heard a word in weeks. Fred has
moved to MGM? I can't imagine when I'll see his
name again - some big-time headline about some
Saudi finance or Japanese money. Investors and
hot dogs and garlic. There's a spinning in this web
that leaves me dizzy looking - I cannot walk the
cable, nor leap the gorge it vaults. A couple of
fellows I once knew were trading gold when it
was eight hundred and fifty bucks. I don't know
where it's ended up, but the ingots and the bullion
are gone : they trucked it away one freezing February
morning, in an armored car that went the wrong way
down a one-way street going up. Those streets down
by William and Nassau and Wall, they can be driven
at will if the trucks loaded with gold. Go where you
wish, my fellow. And now, a year or almost two later
all I'm getting is some nitwits playing carols on instruments
of brass. Christmas carols no less. Oh I hate the stuff.
Fred moved to MGM? Please, please, Fred; take the
Canadian Brass with you, and Jeff Spurgeon too. They're
worth their weight in garbage, I can tell you that.
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I was lost and now I'm found?
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