Two casual strangers sit across a room.
One pressed suede, pipe smoke dancing all around.
The other, poor soul, in financial doom.
Both in the arts, successful by name.
One works hard, fingers broken, sleep never found.
The other, rich tart, recipient of fame.
They grew up together, same school, same street.
Once full of laughter, clothes stained in mud.
They fell apart young, thirty years they next meet.
Now one rakes in money, climbing stock charts.
The other sleeps hungry, coughing up blood.
They’re both in the arts.
