Our jubilant song and dance cabaret celebrating our anticipated riches is being interrupted by an old familiar disturbance. A filthy mob of peasants has broken into our little imaginary theater and caused our splendidly coiffed and donned duo to freeze their money-grubbing ditty in mid-stride. The unruly group's spokeswoman, who's known only as Madame DeFarge has hopped up one one of the tiny bistro tables, kicked off the dainty champagne glasses from it and now shouts at the top of her dank, diseased lungs "L'Argent est mort!"
Of course she must be outright batty. We all know money is absolutely not dead. It seems though that by this wench's appearance this morning, it may just be a lot harder for our personal world to go 'round.