A Cockey man in Baltimore, years ago, built banks, buildings, railroads perhaps, and here he lies. They named a town after him, Cockeysville, you can look it up.
He was exuberantly confident. Brazenly brash. Cocksure. Defiant and egomaniacally eruptive to the last.
He may have held press conferences; perhaps had golden details in his buildings. Cockey may have been surrounded by women who fit a certain stereotype of youth of beauty. Perhaps only in his final moments did he reflect on all he had done, on all the cruelties large and small. How did these measure up to a few towers erected?
He has been decomposing for some time and not available for comment.
