Entitlement

by Rumaan Alam

Eventually, everything would come to pass, but for now there was that feeling of suspension, of navigating some interstitial space in which progress was not possible, in which you simply had to wait, mark time, because the future was inevitable.

“Eeyore. You’re not poor.” The thing you said reflexively, as when someone laments their weight. He made a face of mock dismay. “Never said that. You think poor people care about money? You think poor people don’t know they’re poor, aren’t resigned to it, aren’t happy in some way, aren’t at peace? The people who are obsessed with money aren’t the rich who have it or the poor who don’t. They’re us. They’re the big middle, it’s all the rest of us, because we know what money can do. We know how we’ll never get our hands on it, but we know it could make us free.”