The armed security guard protecting the front gate of the posh condominium community fingers his automatic rifle and ponders his job. He wonders, though the urge to bansih reflection is strong, whether it has occured to those who have everything that the menial wages they pay to protect their property, their family, and all that is valuable, cannot make those who have nothing forget where the riches came from.
Someone, somewhere was expolted. And how can we explain the paradox that those upon whose toil the gleaming edifices were built are delighted to protect those who bask in luxury?
What is it that prevents all the poor men with guns and badges from enacting some Eastern European philosopher’s version of justice?