Coming down the stairs from the third floor of the parking garage at Fourth and Washington, I heard a snippet of a conversation between two *businessmen* from a couple floors below. I whipped out my camera and caught a few seconds of their banalities. Their enthusiasm for *business* sickened me. In their urgency, in their fervor, in their bearing, they gave the impression of importance. In truth, the clodhopper who shovels shit behind the horses in the 4th of July parade is more important. I thank God by the grace of God I am not a *businessman,* deceived by the hollow trade of the world. All the energy of the *businessman* is devoted to that which moth and rust doth corrupt. The *businessman* sacrifices his life on the altar of cant and bombast. What a blessing: to be poor and miserable. . .