The year is soon, and the day is definitely a weekday by the mere fact that there is moderately heavy traffic in the downtown area. On the weekends, the formerly busy streets fill with a few art lovers, while the weekday lovers of affairs go home to their spouses. The midweek crowd consists primarily of insurance company clerks, government personnel, and a slew of lawyers in fancy high-rise offices in which to peer down at the common man who have been wronged by someone that violated their Constitution rights. For a fee, they will rectify this situation. Also occupying the concrete sidewalks, in smaller numbers, are a few students, visitors from another region, and a small fleet of meter maids to ensure that government personnel can afford fresh donuts and coffee. Amongst this ocean of human tissue was a lone soul who carried a plastic card in his wallet with his picture emblazoned on the front surface. The driver’s license he bore carried the name Dennis A. Black. He was in his mid-60’s and well on his way to death. His purpose today was to confer with his financial representative and discuss the future of his small fortune that he entrusted to the Welt Cargo Investment firm decades ago. Working from sunup to sundown 6 days a week, for decades, his nest egg grew to be larger than the Cloud Gate at the AT&T Plazza, in downtown Chicago. That chrome art piece was a symbol of success and Mr. Black could boast of such an honor. With a 1PM meeting with Joe Bob Smith, Dennis hoped the conference was done by 2:30PM, thus allowing him to avoid the massive exodus from the city that starts at 3 and tapers at 8 PM. Being efficiency minded, Dennis had scheduled his morning at the downtown Health Department facility to obtain his vaccine for the scourge virus that the world has been fighting for the last year. With 1 quick injection, he was now deemed to be exempt from any further outbreaks as he had recovered from the viral infection months ago. He felt marvelous.

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