The richest man is a beggar. He has the fullest life of leisure. He is a casual observer of sidewalk theatre; front row seats to history’s parades of triumph. Sensing and celebrating our woes and out-of-whack idiosyncrasies. He rejects the obligations which hold small value in the grand scheme of time. A trash bag floating and crashing into whizzing cars provides him more entertainment and serenity than a television could dream of eliciting, and it personifies his ephemeral, dependent existence. Reflection adorns his soul with badges of piety and honor. His completeness begs recognition for his happiness is a means to his own ends. We must claim less and appreciate more for we are mere spectators.