It would almost be a lie if i said i was not concerned old sport.

Gatsbys eyes stared at the distant green light. His heart pondered what it would have been like to have been present in those times where the mobsters and bootleggers would engage in street discussions. Where it was more of a requirement than a fashionable exercise. The times where Godfathers were respected by goombas and wiseguys were not counted as equals to the made men. Was there ever really a time when a person possessing bodyguards was treated with respect? Was there really ever a time where a person that possessed bodyguards held them because of the honor he held in his crew? The way, the history was so lost to Gatsby.

As i look towards our future i cant help but recall the past old sport. You see there was a time where, and i know that many people will disengage and say, "But that was a long time ago, NOW IS NOW!" But is there not something to be cherished and held from the past? Traditions to be revered and almost held to a standard one that we would never let go of? 

Gatsby took his eyes off the green light. He looked up towards the night sky. The party had all but ended and there was this type of calm that filled the atmosphere. A calm of regret. A stillness that can only be described as one who had made every mistake in their life just to try and get things right. The bottles empty and filled lied in the pool. Confetti and people, drunk in their madness, strewn about the floor.

I dont know the answer. As i look back and think of the people that spoke in the streets, i find myself wondering why no one chose to respond to them. I cant help but ask myself if cities were taken away from the life of the mafia because of the lack of activity, would the streets be taken from us as well? Is it possible that the business districts be broken into and robbed from us? 

Gatsby looking into his glass twisted his tongue around in his mouth. Combing his hair back he looked back up and appeared to be flustered.

Since when did we just become button pushers? Clicking our lives into the next unit. When have we stopped engaging with one another? Why is it that posting our thoughts in the streets and speaking in the business districts is but a distant memory held by vast majority but cherished by a selected few? 

Excuse me if i come off like i have all the answers old sport, because i can assure you i simply do not. However, if i was to say that i am going to spend countless hours of my life here, in the same world as you, i would like to see some of those ancient traditions held as they once were. I would like to see an push towards more than just getting by. 

Gatsby looked down and thought for a moment. Was there anything to be done? He adjusted his tie and ended his thought.

Disagree with me! Tell me everything is great! Agree with me and tell me we have become lukewarm! The seeds we plant now will be harvested in the days to come old sport, but dont let us just be. We must be more. Our life, our life has to be like this, it has to keep going up. Dont you agree?

Gatsby startled by his own frustration stopped speaking. He breathed a deep breath. His chest puffing up and slowly releasing the oxygen that he inhaled. He took a few steps back and allowed for anyone to speak. Perhaps a few people would speak. Perhaps just a few. He didnt care if they were new to the streets or familiar. He wasnt concerned with the prestige of he who chose to share there thoughts he just wanted that, someone to share there thoughts.