You're 16 years old trying to push your way through an angry mob of men screaming outside

a bank.

Today, stock markets crashed all over the world.

Well, healed investors are throwing elbows and grabbing hair to climb the broad front

steps of the stone building, taking their turn pounding on the banks locked doors, demanding

to get in, to get whatever money they've got left back home safely.

Fools.

Even your 16-year-old brain knows the banks don't actually have all that money on hand.

It's a system built on trust, faith, steady, reasoned behavior.

But the behavior you're witnessing here is anything but steady or reasoned.

Even the name for this behavior or run on the bank makes no sense.

You don't see any running.

Another rock crashes through the banks, high windows.

You see tears of panic in grown men's eyes.

You see elderly women's fists flying in lace and broider gloves.

Their lips curled like wolves.

They want money.

They want blood.

You, on the other hand, just want to get home.

You're carrying precious cargo, precious to you at least.

A single, warm, fresh baked loaf of bread.

Talk safe and sound inside your threadbare coat.

...