Wherein I dare to hope…
In which the author and a third grade teacher share mutual incomprehension.
The moment you know you have reached middle age, and are happy to do so.
In one case, he paints himself as the victim and can sleep at night on top of a giant pile of money.
In the other, the sounds of angry Clevelanders die softly on the grounds of his mansion as he struggles to sleep on top of a giant pile of money.