Megan Goldin

They were like capitalist soldiers in their two-thousand-dollar suits, pressed razor-sharp. Impeccably groomed. You’d think they’d never been touched by perspiration, dirt, or excrement. But no one gets to make the kind of money those four did without tarnishing their soul. Their hands were soft, and clean, and free of calluses. But only because they never touched the blood they spilt.

Men barely need to think about what to wear to the office. They throw on a Ferragamo suit and tie and they’re instantly classy. Women have it tougher. We have to be feminine and yet professional. Fashionable yet conservative. It’s hard to navigate all the contradictions.

Exactly. I pointed to the fucking rock on her finger and told her that investment bankers don’t need religion. We don’t need to wait for the next life to enjoy paradise, not with the money we make.