Last National Bank of Boot Hill, London, EC2
I figure Boot Hill feels nothing like this since the tension mounts up at the OK Corral, rumor is rife at head office, a girl in customer records says she sees tall strangers riding into town, some of them with snow on their boots, also she hears the sound of triggers fanning and of hammers locking, but at the heart of it all is our president, old Mr Schicklgruber.
Every so often we get these tales that he is about to hand over, but I doubt this, I figure that at 106 he is long past the age of retiring, and besides, the scuttlebutt has him in midseason form, with a spring in his step and a gleam in his eye, one day last week he fires three lending officers before his first martini.
Some say he gets on this new wonder drug from Pfizer that enhances the life of the maturer bank president, and some say no, he does better than that, he knows a lab rat in Pfizer who tells him to buy the stock before the story breaks, and one version goes further still, this says there is a widow in the case.