I am drawing a mustache on the face of Theresa Giudice pasted on a billboard you pass at 85 miles per hour listening to the latest “Bridgegate” development on the radio while fumbling for a borrowed E-ZPass buried under a restless mass of unpaid traffic tickets and health care bills. I am urinating in the debt flavored Kool-Aid, being served by suited men from Trenton and DC that is consumed by a room full of people negotiating the boundaries and existence of their status knowing that I will have to drink it myself since I draw attention, sticking out like Casino Pier’s half submerged Jet Star roller coaster after Hurricane Sandy. Speaking of trickledown economics- I am siphoning off some of this supply of mediocre medication, cutting it with designer opiates, garnishing it with media-perpetuated stereotypes and selling it underneath a forgotten overpass. I am doing all of this and I am calling it art.