They were still there. They were always there, taunting him, pressuring him, making him feel guilty, even though there was nothing he could do, not then or now. He looked down at them, much like he had before, though the emotions were different now. Before, they were merely a nuisance that had to be dealt with on the way to work, but now they were something different.

The walls had a good way of protecting him and always had. Up above the city, he looked down, not quite a God, but closely approaching. He had always been different than them, but now the comparison between them was just plain cruel, and yet again he was the minority, albeit one with power. In the past, it was a blessing to be that 2%, but now it was something dreadful and hellish, yet this was his penance, he was sure.

A vision brings him back to the protests of sometime before, all of them stretched out below the office, picketing and carrying they’re signs and banners, shouting and spitting at his coworkers as they made their way to work. Most were young, but he saw a few that were older, but none the wiser. He was more arrogant then, and laughed at the protests, not really giving a damn, except the pain it was to get to his Mercedes. He was well-off and comfortable in his chosen profession and didn’t care what they thought, not even conceding to give them the time of day. If they wanted money, they ought to work for it. This, after all, was a man who had spent many years in college, studying hard and working his way upwards, tooth and nail, and didn’t relish the sneers of the unkempt, who he believed harbored jealousy.

Of course, the economic disparity was such that the divisions between rich and poor were much stronger than ever imagined and more such protests and riots were appearing throughout the world, with men like him, always the likely targets. This was no selfish man, but one of principal, who valued hard work and knowing one’s place, so the cries from below always fell upon deaf ears, even though they were understandable. Later on, through clearer eyes, he would empathize more and thank the heavens for his wealth, but even then, he knew the movement was weak, for there was no leader. Maybe, had he taken the time to listen to the people, he could have been that leader, but what was one man in the scope of such things? This was a case of second guessing, which is never good, and he had to remain content with what he was and try to forget such notions.