Let’s say an archangel showed up at your door this past Saturday and said, “Here’s $1,000, good sir/madam—sorry, I’m bad at identifying genders—you may do with it whatever you like, but you must spend it before the evening is through, and you must spend it locally.” And you’re like, “There’s a hurricane outside, archangel! How will I gamble away $1,000 with all of these howling winds?” “I’ve said all I can,” the archangel said. “Actually, no I haven’t, there’s this hotel in Park Slope charging $1,000 for a room tonight.”
You take the archangel’s money, grab a few brews, and head over to the trendy Hotel Le Bleu in trendy Park Slope where the concierge happily informs you that, exceptionally, a room costs $999 a night instead of the typical $250. You thank your lucky stars that you don’t live in an evil communistic country and hand him your $1,000.
Of course, there’s tax, and you only brought $1,000, so Hotel Le Bleu tells you that paupers and hurricanes kind of go well together anyway, and kicks you out of their trendy lobby onto (somewhat) trendy Fourth Avenue.
Later that night, your power now cut, you bust out a crappy flashlight and unearth an old French-English dictionary. It turns out “Hotel Le Blue” roughly translates to “That morally bankrupt bluish hotel on Fourth Avenue that, if there were any justice in the world, would be fiscally bankrupt too.”