It was the best of times

We were fabulously wealthy. We rode horses in our sleep. Our walls dripped art. We knew everything & nothing. It was ours to lose.

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We were in heaven in a smart car. The streets saluted us as we passed. Behind us, like a honeymoon trail of trash, the big stores, grinning.

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Our servants were invisible. They ran about with heavy trunks containing their own lives. When we tipped them they glowed like embers.

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Sometimes we wanted rain. We knew the right people. They'd come running with their dry excuses. It was the excuses that we really wanted.

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For all our wealth we were unhappy. The sex was bad but the service was excellent. Our salt cellars were pure gold but our feet were tin.

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We dispensed largesse between meals. Crowds came to our funeral. They were sporting buttonholes of dead flowers. We fed them caviare

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Our dreams of avarice were spectacular affairs. Mountains moved. We had a fleet of empty cars. The music under the streets was perfect.

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Shari found herself in India. Martin was in China. We were in several places at once at the centre of the earth. We paid and left.

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We had people to do things for us. We paid them fortunes. When we woke we were those people. We led full and interesting lives on hard cash.

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One day the tap stopped running. We called the surgeons. It was a long operation. Cash in brown envelopes. The usual. Who needs water?