(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#31958157)

TMF: 'Interesting. As it happens, I have a graduate degree as well. You and I have quite a bit in common.'

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#28050140)

I like mine in silk

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#28051465)

Follow me.

*everyone takes their Styrofoam bowls and plastic lids and crams onto a 8 by 8 foot "roof terrace". 2 of them manage to secure a seat around a shitty wooden card table, the rest eat their Pho standing up, unable to fully extend their arms like John mccain*

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#28050357)

But then, something magical happens. The words float out on the summer air, through the casement window that lies swung open at the front of the room. A rustle of leaves, a thud. Suddenly, a renowned mathematician pokes his round spectacled head through and gives a friendly wave. "Mind if I join you gentlemen?" TMF, stunned and delighted, hands him a cigar. In the intellectual's wake comes a chessmaster, a financier, a derivatives architect, a member of the JP Morgan capital markets execution team. Now, a ballerina and a playwright.

They stream through the open window. The trickle is now a flood. It is riot now. Biblical. The gaping window is a no man's land filled with bestial looking professionals reeling about with manic eyes and reeking of Pho broth. Through either brute force or some unknown ingenuity, a UBS executive manages to squeeze his torso through the frame, only to be torn asunder. His constituent parts thrown backwards through the crowd. A bloody app designer falls through the portal like a freshly delivered fetus. MND wraps him in a white towel and rubs him vigorously.

In the midst of it all TMF is seemingly encased in a nimbus of calm and order. Arms akimbo. Holding court. Distributing copies of the Financial Times, assiduously monitoring weenie consumption. The floor is slick with blood and cider but he glides across it like a puck on ice.

Meanwhile, far across the continent in the mile-high city, a married man his early thirties with no debt, a woodworking happy that he indulges in on the weekends, a beautiful wife and three perfect young children carefully balances himself on a plastic stool in his garage, a noose around his neck. Next to his balancing foot lies an Android smartphone with the yelp app loaded, it reads: your search for "cheap Barbadian dinner" within 8 miles has returned 0 results.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#28053254)

Also, notice how the man in Colorado stands on a plastic stool (cheap furniture), enjoys woodworking (decidedly parole), and owns an android smart phone (utilitarian; not hip like the iphone). For the NYC elite, there can be no worse state than the lack of status symbols and eccentric eateries.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#28053631)

amazing.

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=2900109&forum_id=2Elisa#29424529)