The Great Gatsby Monologue

Sleep seemed to be extinct from my conscious mind that night. I spent that time drunkenly reflecting on Gatsby’s mark on Earth that seemingly washed away like a footprint on a sandy shore. At some ungodly hour I made my way back from the city at a unfamiliar leisurely pace, that of which clearly lacked the intimate life of the party. It didn’t take long before I found myself at the Gatsby’s front gate, his initials G.B. worked fluently into the design, with spots of rust beginning to sprout along the sides. Upon entering, it was apparent that the stampede of the news reporters left behind their trail of carelessness for anything other than themselves. The aura radiating throughout the space was no longer filled with excitement, but a darkened

With this, I settled down in a comfortable cottage and extended my pursuit of writing. I drafted many works of my time in New York, and my experience with the roaring aspects of this era, some of which prompted a local newspaper company to offer me a job. Obviously, I declined as I was still sickened by the press during the time of Gatsby’s death. My interests fell away from the bond business, I had enough of it back in New York. My mouth salivated for something I could sink my teeth into, something that could make me money. The stock market became my hobby, work, and entertainment that made me strive for economic success, and I was quite good. Even though I rid myself of Eastern ways, the absence of wealth drove my hunger for money. Having a taste of the upper class was not enough for me now, it was time for a new and better Nick Carraway, someone who would make Gatsby proud to be called his successor. As time went on, I had come to accumulate quite a bit of assets in the stock market, which pleasured me, as this sort of deal was nothing to hidden. The legality of the whole deal was very appealing, it differed from my time in New York. Shady doings were common, anything to make a buck it seemed, a foolish and careless