The private projects of powerful people

I sit here growing old, and saddened I was wrong. Something about who I was, I guess, something in the soup I drank when my mother was young and I was brand new. I thought we all knew the same thing; I thought we were all growing up to fix what somebody before us broke.

I know how it works now (maybe you always did). The boys who get to be the figureheads maneuver for a bigger dinner. The swarms of folks who make them figureheads will stick you with a knife to keep their guy propped up at the table. Once in a while a good idea swirls through the crowd, but who can survive the machine that spits out the checks?

If you get a little lucky, you’re not going to give it up.

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