Last Train out of Chicago

Sir. I need help. We are stranded and we need to catch the next train out. I cant help you I'm sorry. Said while rushing up to catch the midnight train out of Chicago. Wisps of snow fall down on a breathing freight parked by the platform. Chicago glows in the cold darkness, a glittering city of Oz. Hey man. Hey  man. Those people ask you for money. Yeah. The black man with the wool hat appeared out of nowhere. Nowhere.

They do that shit every night man. I'm straight up. Man I need help I say so. Just got out of the pen man. Eight years and now I'm on the street. You a player. I can tell. They are just pulling the same old con. The couple come out onto the platform. Fighting. The woman with bruises rushes past. We have to get on this train. Yeah man. They do this shit every night...but hey man you help me out you know with a few bucks. I already have my hand on four dollars.

Yeah I was going to give it to them but now not so fast. A con. Sure. The homeless con in Chicago and I'm stranded. You really think they are lying? Man. Course they are. I'm for real. I see the train coming from Chicago. The last train out. Cmom man just give me a couple bucks. I hand the money over and he starts walking. I got your back man. You ever by the library we play chess.

The train rushes in and the couple jumps on. The man goes into the bathroom. The conductor faces the woman and then pulls the stop cord. Come on...get your boyfriend out of the bathroom. I watch him escort them off the train back into the night.  The sleeping suburban people don't stir.

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Are there no workhouses for the ninety nine?

The one percent, a covetous, crotchety old one percent bent over his figures with only a candle for warmth while the ninety nine sits out in the tank scrounging for coal. Please sir may I have an extension of me unemployment benefits or me payroll tax for the holiday. Tis only happens once a year and we would like to make a little merry. The one percent rose up over his candle and looked over. And a fine thing for picking  me pocket with your social security and your medicaid and your unemployment. No. Not another scrap for you ninety nine.

And at that two men came in with their hats off and asked the one percent if they might tax him a bit to help the poor. Are there no workhouses? Are there no prisons? There are sir and they are full of the ninety nine we are sad to say. Oh. I thought something might have put them out of their usual vigor. No. No. You will get no tax from me for those lazy beggars who haven't the gumption to do something for themselves. But sir, it is Christmas and the ninety nine already pay the tax and many will soon die from hunger. Then let them do it and decrease the surplus population! Be  gone you ninety nine scoundrels and leave me to my business!

At that his nephew approached. Uncle One Percent. What is it you ninety nine. I suppose you have your hand out too? I have come from Wall Street to wish you the one percent a merry Christmas. Why? Why? Would you do that? Because uncle, we are but fellow journeyers to the grave and there is nothing you can do for that. Then why are you happy? Why not uncle? I am young and poor and you are rich and old. One day you will die and decrease the surplus population. Then the world will change.

Bah Humbug!
So a Merry Christmas to you one percent!
Bah Humbug!
And a happy new year!

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