Sarah Anderson, the director of the Institute for Policy Studies’ Global Economy Project, subsequently pointed out this $27 billion bonus pool paid to securities industry workers in New York City in 2013 was larger than the total amount earned by all of the country’s 1,085,000 full-time minimum wage workers last year. In fact, Business Insider’s calculations show the Wall Street bonus pool was approximately 65% larger than the total earnings of America’s full-time minimum-wage workers in 2013
Peter down the cracked sidewalk, gaze alert and wary. One advantage of his current status, no one would be surprised if he had some fighting skills. Most people that survived on the streets had some, sometimes earned the hard way. So the battered backpack on his back with his tools he could defend if someone tried to take it from him. Not that people tried to much anymore.
The teen headed towards a few of the places that would have the occasional job for him fixing electronics, and the occasional mechanical device. A certified technician he was not, but the people he helped couldn’t afford one of those anyways. So he didn’t get paid that well, but any funds to help survive would be good.
He needed to eat far more than most people did. As well as he had managed so far with his skills, he still had started to look just this side of too thin. Baggy clothing helped disguise it, and he worked at looking as presentable as possible. People wouldn’t give him a chance to do a job for him if he looked too ragged. It all took time and energy, something he always felt draining away.
His wary watchful vigilance didn’t fade as he slipped inside the back of the building. If anything it stayed high as Peter checked to see if they would have jobs for him.
“It’s a house. It was a great house. Huge and
beautiful and secure.” He sighed. “In fact, every one we saw today was. The one
in Brick Street? Six bedrooms, sixteen thousand square feet with an inside pool
and gym! What was wrong with it?!”
“It didn’t have a backyard!”
“It had a terrace.”
“It was almost a big porch, I couldn’t have a
garden in it.”
“Okay.” He said, resolute. “And the one in
I remembered the big white period villa that
made me feel in an episode of Downton Abbey.
“Twelve bedrooms?” I asked him. “Who are we?
The ghost of a smile graced his lips at my bad
joke, but he went on, inquisitively.
“And the one in Hampstead? Seven bedrooms and
bathrooms, electronic gates, gym, outdoor swimming pool, off street parking-“
“Oh, that one was beautiful.” I said, dreamily. Harry shot me a desperate look.
“On the outside. The inside was so tacky! I don’t know what is it with
British houses and those horrible curtains.”
“We can change the inside!” Harry said.
“Redecorate! You love that!”
“I don’t wanna pay for a house that I’ll have
to fix.” I argued.
“What about Frognal?”
“It wasn’t Central London!”
“Not pet friendly.”
“Not nearly enough closet space!”
“It wasn’t…” I struggled to put the feeling
into words. “Exciting.”
Harry sighed. “Bathurst Street? You said the
décor was beautiful yourself!”
I couldn’t argue against that. The house we had
seen in Bathurst Street was, indeed, by all effects, perfect. It had the most
gorgeous backyard and was decorated like a Los Angeles celebrity’s mansion. It
had eight bedrooms inside, plus a cottage for staff outside with four more
where our security would have been greatly comfortable.
I looked at Harry, who had his sunglasses on as
he drove with one hand, always looking at the rearview mirror to make sure it
was just the boys following us in the car behind, and not paparazzi, who were
still unaware I was there.
He looked so handsome I couldn’t help but sigh.
“It didn’t feel like home.”
He drove slower on a narrow, busy street next
to the Oriental Hotel behind April, who was signaling we were going to enter a
building on the left.
Harry turned to me as we waited for the gates
“It won’t feel like home until we’re living in
it.” He said, turning to face me and holding my hand. “I mean, it’s a new
house, it’ll feel like a new house until we make it a home.”