This entire business of sub-prime mortgages is sad. Many touching images have emerged.
That of the investment banker having to let the second S-class go because his stock options are no longer valuable enough to pay for both the sea-front condo and the Merc.
The real-estate developer having to hock his Rolex collection to pay the installments on his Learjet.
The finance whiz Wharton MBA having to stand in line for the economy class check-in to Ibiza.
But none so poignant as the recent news story that banks were refusing to lend money to other banks in the US. I brushed the tear from my eye. Let them call me unmanly, but I have a heart.
I could just picture JP Morgan shuffling across to BankAm and sidling up in an ingratiating manner, asking if he could borrow a billion or two for the weekend - returnable as soon as dad's cheque arrives on Monday morning.
BankAm, I could just imagine stiffening ever so slightly and telling JP in a patently fake manner that he would have loved to do just that but mom's insulin has been eating up all the family spare cash. He'd let JP know, BankAm would promise, but don't call me, I'll call you.
And JP would shuffle off, shoulders drooping, wandering hopelessly into the sunset.
If that doesn't make you cry, I don't think anything will.