To whomever it may concern,
I don’t have any flowery salutations for you and your cronies. I believe you get enough of that in your offices swinging on imported leather chairs behind huge mahogany finished desks. Your chauffeur too ensures your ego is sufficiently stroked every day. When you walk out of your large mansion or furnished apartment and into the open back left door of your fuel guzzler. Your suit, is it an import? Italian maybe? What about your shoes? Does the driver complain about your possibly obnoxious cologne? Pardon me. Of course he doesn’t. He might hate his job but he loves his family more. Compromise. Something you should look up.
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