Errr , excuse me Sir, Mr 1%, hellooooo!!!

He ignored me, but as he had turned into stone , I tried not to take it personally. He was not communicating with anyone at all not the police, not the Occupiers , not the tourists or bystanders or gawkers. He was totally fixated with the contexts of his case, forever it seemed. I wondered how the police would move him out as he looked kind of heavy.

In all the Mayhem of "Liberty Park" he was the one silent voice, a banker, a worker bee, a cog in the wheel, a bona fida member of the Rat Race.

Would he ever make it to that important meeting, get on that global conference call, answer to the board?

Who knows. I had my own theory as to his fate.

Methinks he was an early pizza eater and one of the first to get the NSA poisoning, sad as it wasn't meant for him at all. That what happens when you leave boxes of poisoned pizza around willy nilly, they don't always get the right target. A bit like a drone plane I guess.

I was getting nada from him so putting my hand on his stony shoulder I wished him well and hopped along.