My story with a money printing machine

Chapter 1

Flipping through the latest edition of People and Times, the headline screams, "New York vs. Los Angeles: The Battle for Tomorrow's Economic Hub." With Chicago trailing behind by a wide margin and Detroit grappling with a steep economic downturn, the focus is squarely on these two bustling metropolises.

Each day, droves of individuals converge upon these dynamic cities, armed with ambitious aspirations or fleeting fantasies. And with each sunset, an equal number retreat from the towering concrete jungles, their dreams intact but often tempered by the harsh realities of urban life.

Among the throngs of commuters rushing through subway stations, you'll spot young professionals clutching designer bags, their hurried steps echoing against the tiled walls as they navigate the crowded platforms. High heels click against the pavement as they ascend the stairs, a mix of determination and disdain etched across their faces as they skirt past the downtrodden souls seeking solace in the shadows.

Inside the towering structures that dominate the skyline, queues form outside office suites, hopeful candidates waiting their turn for a shot at success. Yet, for every hopeful applicant who emerges from those doors, there's another whose dreams are dashed with the sound of their resume hitting the wastebasket.

At Starbucks, a microcosm of the city's hustle and bustle, the scene is frenetic. Oriental faces dart in and out, clutching their steaming cups of coffee as they dart off to conquer the day. Some sip hastily from their to-go cups while engaged in animated phone conversations, while others carefully cradle their beverages as they slip into waiting cars, their sights set on corporate conquest.

Meanwhile, inside the cozy confines of the coffee shop, Western faces linger over their brews, leisurely perusing the pages of The New York Times or sharing lighthearted banter with friends. Amidst the chatter and clinking of cups, the question arises, "What's the plan for your next vacation?" As the debate rages on outside, those within the sanctuary of Starbucks can't help but indulge in a moment of reprieve from the relentless pace of city life.

Along the prestigious thoroughfare stretching from 1st Avenue to 18th Avenue, the ambiance within the famed brand stores is distinctly aloof. Amidst the gleaming displays of haute couture, occasional patrons—sporting oversized shades and an air of discernment—gently peruse the meticulously arranged garments. Each delicate touch seems tentative, as if wary of disturbing the pristine facade of luxury. Before the attentive staff can swoop in with their sales pitches, these discerning shoppers release their grip, allowing the items to gracefully return to their rightful places among the racks.

In these bastions of opulence, the ratio of employees to customers often seems skewed, adhering to the ethos that five associates must attend to the needs of one patron simultaneously. The air is thick with the anticipation of indulgence, as if every transaction holds the promise of a transformative experience.

Across the bustling avenue, the waterfront promenade teems with tourists eager to capture the essence of the city. Clad in attire sourced from popular chain stores, they vie for the perfect photo opportunity, their voices echoing with excitement as they call out in various accents. Yet, despite the proximity to luxury, there remains a palpable divide—a juxtaposition of worlds, each with its own allure and exclusivity.

Meanwhile, in the labyrinthine alleyways tucked away from the glamour of the main thoroughfare, a different scene unfolds. Here, weary residents navigate the mundane realities of daily life, their expressions etched with a mixture of resignation and determination. These are the unsung heroes of the city, whose struggles and triumphs unfold in the shadows cast by towering skyscrapers.

Outside the enclave of luxury, amidst the hustle and bustle of 8th Street, a fleet of luxury vehicles awaits, ready to whisk away elegantly attired patrons to their afternoon engagements. For these individuals, every outing is an opportunity to indulge in the finer things in life—to savor the fleeting moments of luxury amidst the frenetic pace of urban existence.

This is a city in perpetual motion, propelled by the relentless pursuit of progress and the insatiable desire for more. In its ever-evolving landscape, the dichotomy between luxury and reality serves as a poignant reminder of the complex tapestry of human experience.

In the heart of the bustling metropolis, amidst the ceaseless pursuit of wealth and success, the city transforms into a labyrinthine maze of desires, both material and existential.

This is an era marked by an icy indifference that cuts through the soul like a razor-sharp blade.

In the relentless quest for progress, hearts are repeatedly punctured, each wound serving as a vessel for dormant chaos, like ticking time bombs buried deep within the collective consciousness. The widening gap between societal factions fractures the very fabric of humanity, leaving souls torn asunder by the relentless forces of division.

We find ourselves lying in our beds, our existence teetering on the brink of insignificance, lost in the vast expanse of urban anonymity.

As the harsh shrill of the morning alarm shatters the stillness of dawn, our instinctive response is to swat it away, seeking solace in the brief respite from reality. Yet, in our half-conscious state, we fail to notice the forgotten bucket by the bedside—a casualty of our own negligence.

Moments later, a second wave of panic washes over us as we discover the alarm clock submerged in the bucket, its insistent chimes muffled by the water. With a resigned sigh, we relocate it to the balcony, hoping against hope that it can withstand the ordeal, much like the smartphone that survived its accidental dip in a cup of milk tea.

In a futile attempt to expedite the water's evaporation, we shake the alarm clock vigorously, only to watch in horror as the back cover mysteriously disappears into the ether, eliciting a startled cry from the neighbor below.

It's a scene reminiscent of the time a ten-kilogram quilt plummeted from the balcony, narrowly missing Mrs. Smith as she returned from the hair salon with her towering bun and clouds of hairspray, momentarily engulfed in a veil of darkness.

In the pinnacle skyscraper at the heart of downtown Manhattan, an aura of refinement and opulence permeates through the walls, constructed of gilded steel and glass.

As John Smith engaged in a business call, summoning his maid to pour milk into his Tiffany teacup, the morning sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a sharp glow on his face. Despite being fifty, he appeared no older than forty, thanks to the daily regimen of anti-aging skincare products, diligently chosen by his daughter.

Sitting across from him, his daughter sipped her coffee while perusing the financial news, delivered promptly by their diligent maid. Without a word, she handed her empty cup to the maid, who returned moments later with a freshly brewed cup of Brazilian coffee.

John smiled with satisfaction, resuming his conversation, "There's nothing that can't be bulldozed. Even a cemetery, flatten it and build me a mansion. Exhume the graves? Dispose of it! And what's the bid for the artificial plantation in Alaska? If converted to USD... Oh, and what's today's exchange rate?" John paused to take a sip of his milk tea, only to hear his daughter calmly interject from across the room, "1 to 74600."

"Lily, what did you say?" John glanced over.

"I mean, today's exchange rate for the USD is 1 to 74600," Lily replied, glancing up from the newspaper before returning her attention to it. She only looked up again when John was about to leave, "Dad, unless you're attending a luau, can you please swap out that floral tie for something more appropriate?" With a nod to Lucy, their nanny, she added, "Fetch his dark blue HERMES tie."

With a smile, Lily watched her father, a small bead of sweat forming on his forehead.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Lily's mother emerged from her bedroom with a sense of urgency, her eyes scanning the room before settling on Lily with a hint of desperation. "Lily, can you spare me some cash?" she murmured, her voice tinged with anxiety.

Setting her coffee cup down with a resigned sigh, Lily regarded her mother with a mixture of exasperation and concern. "Mom, I had a chat with the folks at Tiffany's yesterday. If they even think about peddling that jewelry to you, I'll mobilize Dad's entire network and mine to make a mass exodus to Bvlgari."

Before her mother could protest, Lily cut her off with a firm yet empathetic tone. "Seriously, Mom? Three bracelets, two rings, and two watches in a single month? How many wrists do you have? Even a centipede would struggle to keep up with your level of accessorizing. Take a breather, will you?"

With a determined nod, Lily grabbed her Fendi bag and headed for the door, her mind already racing with plans to tackle the day's challenges. "Lucy, get the driver on the line. I'll be waiting downstairs, and tell him to put the pedal to the metal—I'm not in the mood for a leisurely commute."

Barely a moment after stepping out and closing the door, it swung open again with a sense of urgency. "Lucy, grab my mouthwash—I forgot to toss it in my bag," Lily called out, her tone slightly flustered.

Her mother's voice rang out from inside, filled with a touch of exasperation. "You don't need it. Just grab the shower gel, shampoo, and conditioner!"

Pausing for a moment, Lily weighed her options before nodding decisively. "Hmm, not a bad idea," she conceded, accepting the mouthwash from Lucy and striding off without a backward glance, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead with her trademark resolve.

As Stacy tried for the third time to squeeze herself into the size L women's dress, her friend Emily couldn't help but release a heavy sigh. It wasn't just about Stacy's futile attempts to fit into the dress; Emily found herself perplexed by the garment's design. The bold black lines, oversized pockets, and a horse pattern on the shoulder left her questioning its appeal. Before Stacy even tried it on, Emily had her doubts, prompting her to interrogate the clerk three times: "Are you absolutely certain this isn't from the men's section?"

When Stacy finally gave up, tears welling in her eyes, another clerk delivered the final blow with a smile: "Miss, we actually have a men's version of this dress, identical in every way. No one would even bat an eye."

"Wait, you mean it's gender-neutral?" Emily's response was swift.

Caught off guard, the clerk stumbled over their words, unable to provide a clear answer.

Frustrated and feeling slighted, Stacy tossed the clothes aside, declaring, "This is just unfair. I'm not buying it." With a playful tug, she pulled Emily, who was on the verge of rolling her eyes, out of the store.

But that wasn't the end of their misadventures. The real blow came as they were about to leave, when Emily spotted another dress that caught her eye. Trying on the size S, she emerged with a faint sigh, "It's too big."

Angrily, Stacy stormed out, leaving Emily behind. As she wandered aimlessly through the mall, Emily felt a sense of indifference wash over her. Shopping wasn't her forte, especially when it came to department stores. Unless there was a sale or a gift from her friend Sarah, she wouldn't bother. Yet, despite her lack of enthusiasm, Emily couldn't escape the reality of her allure: every time she donned a skirt bought from a bargain shop, heads turned. Boys seemed to gravitate towards her, much to Stacy's chagrin.

After a brief stop at the bookstore on the fourth floor, Emily headed to the bus stop, a picture book cradled in her arms, ready to tackle the next item on her agenda: school registration. As she navigated the bustling crowds, she couldn't shake the feeling that the day held more surprises in store.