Why Walls are Generally not a Good Idea.

At times, my future seems all too finite kinda like the future of the Republican Party.   What is the wall made of between the past, present and future?  I wonder that if the future built a wall between the future and the present, would the future get the past to pay for it?  Or what if the past could no longer immigrate to the future, although the present could.  What kind of future would that entail? Why is the future so scared of the past?  Does the future really think it will win an election by keeping the past out of the present?

There are no walls in the air we breathe.   The richest and the poorest in Manhattan all inhale and exhale the same molecules.  Donald Trump, much to his chagrin, inhales the detritus from that street person with the sign near Penn Station that reads "Time is Running out and Money Can't Buy it Back."

The coin which was just handed to the street person was formerly located in my car ashtray until several months ago, when I inserted it, and several coins like it, into a parking meter in St. Louis.   The odyssey of the coin thereafter from St. Louis to Manhattan is convoluted.  Even more nebulous is how that coin will eventually be handed back to me as change for a bulletproof coffee that I will purchase at a coffee shop in Madison, Wisconsin after I take my daughters there for college Freshman orientation. The number of humans who will touch the coin prior to that time is innumerable.   I would like to meet them them all.

In an even stranger twist of fate, the bulletproof coffee that I will drink at that shop will be made in part by water of which several parts per million will be excreted by that same street person with the past aforementioned sign who will piss it into a urinal at a homeless shelter.  The homeless shelter will be built on proceeds that the City of New York acquires though the foreclosure of the Trump Tower in Columbus Circle.  In that foreclosure proceeding, Donald Trump will plead to the Judge that if he has more Time,  he can get more Money to Buy Back his Hotel.  To wit, the Hispanic Judge, appointed by President Hilary Clinton will reply to him that his time has run out and that money can't buy his back his insolvent corporation.

Donald Trump, despondent, will then go to lunch and eat a hot dog which has been inadvertently contaminated at the meat processing plant by feces to be excreted from my body drinking the bulletproof coffee from that coffee shop in Madison.  I can't remember what that shop's name was, but they used a little too much MCT oil for my liking leading to what has been known in the business as "disaster pants."