It is the time of year that changes people's minds on things, it's the season that brings it out of the people who are too weak to make their own decisions. And don’t you tell me how a bank is run, I’ve been running this town longer than long johns were delivered by mail during the victory garden days of the war. I believe I know my place, do you know yours? Your place says you think a welcome mat is an invitation to be another one of those copper wire jockeys, grinning at me while looking at a hundred dollar bill with a magnifying glass. Tell me how an economy is run, and I’ll tell you--why--I’ll tell you enough that the Boarding House doesn’t have any collateral, no equity, nothing. I’ll tell you what else--that jazz, liquor, and painted dolls make a difference. Oh, I know you look around…with those sad, puppy dog eyes…you were just like him. That Bailey. An apple in a mother’s baby basket. The man had no business sense. And business sense is what makes this world carry on in a straight line. And look at you. You look at all these starving garlic eaters, these tomato pickers…they don’t want to work, they want to be handed money to buy biscuits and brandy and have nothing left to build an economy. They take a dime, they turn it into mulch. They take a quarter, they turn your town into a bare knuckled junkyard. And they’ll be begging you clutching their little hats to spare a nickel, spare a penny. They’ll take you down with them and have you living in their dirt bed penthouse for the rest of your life.

Time wasted…that’s all you have, and it’s not mine. Happy New Year to you. In jail.