In the Medias Res, the Bartender placed six half-filled pints of Guinness on a tray. Lined up in front of the pint glasses, like pawns in front of higher-order chess pieces, were six shot glasses filled with milky liquid. The Bartender twitched her tail feathers the way she did when she wanted tips. ‘Hey’, the …
When the bartender asked the Founder if he wanted another mezcal, he asked her, ‘What’s the chance that that jackdaw you are seeing flies into a window?’ ‘He’s waiting for me at home’, she said. ‘You know how you say ‘jackdaw’ in Czech?’ ‘What’s bothering you?’ She ruffled her tail feathers as she asked. That’s …
Usually, when the Founder sat in the Media Res drinking, he thumbed his phone, but this night was different from all other nights. The phone sat on the bar and the Founder stared at a space behind the mirror that covered the wall behind the bottles of gin, single-malt Scotch and high-end bourbon. It is …
Recently published in The Brussels Review. No Belgian jokes, please.
Dirt Lease is going global.
The Founder had his feet on the desk and was describing a journey he had recently taken to Legal. ‘The soundtrack is essential’, he said. ‘It guides the experience.’ A commotion broke out on the trading floor. The Baker Brothers, it appeared, had begun to trim their portfolio. They were selling off their smaller parks …
In a Walmart in northern New York, a youngish Black woman recently did a double-take when she saw the Founder. ‘O-My-God’, she said. ‘Hi’, the Founder said. ‘Are you –‘, she said. Her eyes were the size of saucers. The Founder was pleased to see how knowledge of Dirtlease had permeated the community. He always …
When Legal came into the Founder’s office after Labor Day, the Founder stood up to say ‘hi’, bent over the waste paper basket and hurled. Legal turned to leave the office. ‘It’s motion sickness’, the Founder said. ‘Did you go to another ayahuasca retreat’, Legal asked. ‘Could you close the blind, please?’ Legal reached into …
When Legal came into the office, the Founder had his feet on the desk and a grin on his face. ‘Looks like someone got some last night’, Legal said. ‘Look at this’, the Founder said. He crackled the papers of a high-brow tabloid read primarily by educated Jews on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. …
The Founder showed up to the Dirtlease offices on a Monday morning mosquito-bitten, emaciated and fevered. He took a cup of coffee and a thermos of green tea, walked to the corner office, closed the door, and collapsed on the couch. ‘Holy fuck’, Legal said. ‘That is Voodoo economics in action’, Economics said. ‘You don’t …