The boots were custom-made from horsehide, black with silver toe caps on them, initials cut from lizard skin. He’d kept them up with polish and spit but, along with everything else about Eddie, from the sun-dried skin to his hoary head, they were starting to show some age. They’d cost him a thousand dollars once when he was out on a tear, spending the fortune his forebears earned making useful things for people. Several billion, some said it was, after the brokers had churned the account, but Eddie went through it in less than a decade after his grandpa died, on slow dogs and fast women, derivatives and mortgage bonds. If it hadn’t been for the leveraged bets, he’d be a rich man today, but all that was left of his family’s sweat were the worn out boots, the junkyard car, and the clothes he’d packed in the trunk.
Causes Tim Chambers Supports
Occupy Wall Street