I watched and listened on the train today, riding into Manhattan with the family. A rich young man, impeccably dressed and coif’d, stood with his legs planted wide apart in the middle of the car. He was speaking to a woman who must have been his girlfriend, or his wife. I overheard fragments of his speech. “I’m just very annoyed,” he said. “I’m very frustrated. First of all there’s the thing of you getting ready.” I couldn’t hear her responses, which were offered plaintively here and there. “And then you spend all afternoon with someone else,” he went on. “I’m very annoyed. I’m frustrated.” I examined his expensive leather boots and his designer jeans, turned in a single, narrow cuff. His double-breasted pea coat with the strap of his messenger bag slung tight across the front like a belt of ammunition.

Money won’t save you.