The Big Short
Chicago winters suck; bitter cold, no sun, relentless wind. It was February and I was standing next to my wife’s grave. I visit Pia as often as I can - just to let her know she isn’t forgotten - bring her a couple of flowers. The wind chill was somewhere around minus ten. The flowers promptly shriveled up and died. But it’s the thought that counts. Pia’s resting in Graceland Cemetary because I caught her fucking a douchebag lawyer named Tedesco. Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t kill her. Tedesco...