Wind back the clock five years and you will find the streets of New York City vibrant with color, glamour and purpose. The women wore elegant pearls around their necks and the gentleman wore classy three piece suits to the simplest of events. This was all back before October of 1929, back before the start of this great depression. Today, three years after that dreaded day, the scene on the streets of New York City is quite different. These streets, that were once chaotic with the hustle and bustle of everyday life, now lie desolate and deserted, except for the few beggars dotted across the city. The walkways rarely see walking and the stores rarely see customers. The only time the streets are occupied is during the time when food is distributed to those who need it. As of now, the sound of  my footsteps are the only things can be heard echoing off of the cobblestone streets at this hour of the night. My weary face barely shows under the brim of my large top hat perched on the top of my head. My tattered suit mirrors that of a wealthy businessman but with the added accessories of dirt stains and prominent holes lining the pant legs. I walk slowly and carelessly with slouched shoulders almost as if I have no importance to this world at all. My past is filled with much success and many luxuries that have all but been ripped away from him three years ago. The clicking of my worn out soles stop and the streets again plunge into utter silence. Sadness creeps into my heat as I stare up at the large building towering over me. I take a seat at a bench directly across from the building and an almost inaudible sigh escapes my lips as I  look up at the place where my fall from the top began.

The banking business took a huge hit after 1929 and I was one of those who lost everything from the collapse and as the memories come flooding back tears fall from my eyes. Back before the collapse I was a part of the biggest and most successful bank in all of New York City; even as a child I was gifted with all of the best in life and never experienced struggle and hardship. I myself never needed motivation or a hardworking mentality in order to succeed and that was due to the wealth bestowed upon me by my family, and because of this, all through primary school, college and into my first job as a banker, money was able to pave my way to the top without the fight that most have to go through to get there. Soon after, marriage and kids followed bringing more joy into my already perfect life and with that all the comfort and luxuries money could buy for his family. As the memories pass in my head more tears fall still staring through the broken glass front door of the building. I wipe my tears and struggle to stand on my weak and tired legs, then staggers through the door into the abandoned building. My pace slows as I get to the dented brass doors and push the button to call for the elevator. As the elevator draws nearer a rather large object falls from my coat pocket and hits the ground with a loud bang. I rush to pick up the object and shove it back into its original place in my pocket.
The elevator doors open, I step in and push the button for the top floor. As the doors close more memories flood back as the elevator reminds me of the everyday routine I used to follow while working in the building, along with the memory of the last time I was riding in that elevator headed out those doors for the last time. It was November of 1929 only one month after the depression began and I had just been laid off; I remember that day well because that was my last day living in luxury. Since that day my family has suffered in poverty and pain, living in small rooms with many other families, all in the same predicament. The silver spoons I was fed with my entire life became the reason for his family’s suffering:  the lack of hardship and the lack of motivation made life without a job very hard as I possess no discernable skills and have no experience in the grind of everyday life. A steady income was impossible to find and I even swallowed his pride some days and was reduced to sitting on the sides of the streets with hundreds of others begging in order to put food in the stomachs of my two daughters and their mother. This went on for nearly three years struggling and starving just to keep my family alive. I shiver at the thought of my two little girls come to mind and a tear trickles down my face and down onto the floor, the goodbye I shared with my family only a few hours ago didn’t seem like enough of a farewell. My train of thought is wrecked by the sound of the elevator doors reaching their destination at the top floor and the doors slide open revealing my old office.
I step out cautiously and scan the office taking in all the changes that I see from the past three years. My eyes find their way to my old chair still sitting near the window looking over the city. I make my way over to the large window and stares out over the darkened city that I used to look at every day and grin at the irony that it must ends in the same place where it started- dressed in the same suit and staring at the same view. I reach into my coat pocket and draw out the object that he had been dropped on the way up. My eyes examine the object intently as tears well up once again. I look out over the city one last time and reassure myself that this is the only way for my family to survive. I grasp the handle of the object and point and other end towards my temple. I close my eyes tightly as one final tear escapes and then, pull the trigger.