Wealth is a simple matter of not locking your keys in your car. It is a matter of the words coming out of your mouth sounding like the words inside your head, and seeing beauty without looking straight through it. Wealth is a simple matter of lucidity, and I would pick up trash off the street to have it back. But the world is at my door and I know that it is here to collect. I pay for it and let it pass me by, wishing I had the good sense to look closely at it. And I know that the rent is too high, that my income is too low, for this exchange to keep taking place. But lucidity eludes me, slipping behind the furniture, and I’ve misplaced my keys and forgotten to feed the fish and the world is at the door again.