As Dennis Black was enroute to his meeting with Joe Bob Smith, he encountered someone driving a 1910 Model T in the downtown area. Dennis knew the nuances of this black production car because his grampa, George, was inducted into the army that year and had purchased and restored one in the 1950’s, when Mr. Dennis Black was a young, impressionable lad. He could recite the wheelbase, horsepower, and number of vehicles produced that year better than he could recite the Lord’s Prayer, because Henry Ford knew how to make money; God relied on donations. As the Model T turned into an alley to promote some old-fashioned corporate product, Dennis started to think of the Great Depression that started in August of 1929. He recalled his grampa telling stories of all the hardships and sacrifices that everyone endured through that decade, compliments of an out-of-control stock market that grew and harvested greed. No one was exempt, except the elite who were given insider information and pulled their profits to later snatch up all the bargains. Dennis did not want this scenario to happen to his nest egg that he grew at the expense of his entire youth. Working around the clock during his 20’s, 30’s, 40’s, and 50’s, Dennis accumulated a small fortune. Although an apprentice elite, he does not possess the accolades or credentials to be 1 of the blue blooded’s finest. Therefore, he is going to meet with his financial guru to ensure his bets and grow his little nest egg into a supersized ostrich ovum. On the way over to Joe Bob Smith’s office in the financial district of downtown Chicago, Dennis felt a burning sensation in the upper part of his colon. He passed this off as a side effect of eating his wife, Atea’s, Mexican goulash casserole as he did 100’s of times prior. He just figured the old girl’s Parkinson’s disease shook in a bit too much chili powder for his overworked rectum to safely pass the culinary burner. In time, this discomfort will pass, and all will be good.