What I was thinking when I first met Jay Gatsby

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Throughout all my years of success and hard work, I never had enough time to lounge around thinking about my humble past. I had to push some of my memories aside in order to become as successful as I am today. Unfortunately, their is one memory so terrible it has haunted me even to this very day: The day I met Jay Gatsby. It was one summer many years ago I stopped for a drink at his House. Gatsby's mansion was right across the bay from mine. Gatsby's "nouveau riche" status separated us from living on the same side of the island. "Nouveau riche" was all I needed to hear about Gatsby, because weeks later when I saw him that day he was just as what I expected him to be: Dressed in colorful, expensive clothes in order to look like a gentlemen, but underneath his lush exterior hid his malice, secretive background from whence he came; He talked with authority and power, but his social grace and manners were not as superlative as me. He was only trying to hide his shameful heritage to be apart of a society where could had underhandedly destroyed us all. That same week my wife and I attended one of his luxurious parties. I was reluctant to go, but my wife was determined to have me go. As I roamed around the party grounds, I encountered more people just like Gatsby. All who were from "nouveau riche" families, talked, dressed, and behaved in a similar manner. The atmosphere could not have been more disturbing, for I, Thomas Buchanan, wondered how could I allow myself  to be surrounded by filthy bootleggers. Gatsby was no different from the rest of them. I was distant from Gatsby from the remainder of that night. I walked around thinking who is this man and could it be possible that he was trying to get closer to me to obtain something that I had.