When the money’s all gone, and the people you thought were your friends are too, and you sit back and look around, you only have yourself left. And yet, angry commuters still fill the streets on the way to dead end jobs, and the sounds of clanking glasses and sophisticated conversation still echo from the fancy parlors, and life goes on. You’re tempted to find out what went wrong, what hard fought battle ended up in something that can only be described as a rout, but the truth is, if you really want to know why someone else is pulling up to that house on the hill, and it’s not you driving that new Porsche off the lot, and the person you thought knew you better than anyone else in the world just tried to put a bullet in your head, you have to go back further.