Fiddle-dee-dee, says the monster, the present situation calls for decisions. If you at least lived on the periphery, where not everything is buttered up, where you can’t close your eyes to the empty stomachs bustling through the mountains of garbage, you little foam crown of overproduction! But here you don’t even dare to enter the basement of your own house to say “how d’you do” to the construction workers who sleep there in bunk beds in order to continue building the investment, pouring hundreds of senseless tons of concrete onto steel grids day after day—and waiting for their unpaid wages.
