Jul 10, 2014

Peet’s at Franklin Square. Two men at the next little round table. Big guy; little guy.  Ethnics.  Little guy: no distinguishing features, barely visible, impossible to remember even as you're starring at him.

Big guy: jowls in a baby blue t. With a tourist gallery of low-brow body painting. Don Quixote hanging on one arm.  SCOTUS on the other, in big letters. And then in the neck area, where the tie knot goes Lady Liberty with big tits holding her scales but gingerly.  Some writing you can't read. Code maybe. But not prison scratch.

"You know what I mean?" says BG.

LG nods but it doesn't look like he knows. 

"It's absolutely atrocious.  Some of the investors are fucking suing us.  And this is what it is, these fucking bastards have no fucking patience.  Know what I mean?

LG nods but he has no idea.

And they're saying, 'can’t you walk us through some of this shit?'  And I'm saying how hard is this. We have an idea for a site. The idea is you sell this to people who are dying.  What do they need? Hospice, a lawyer, mortician, a hug from the nurse, calls from people they knew in grade school. They need somebody to take care of all  that.  That's what we do.  Deathcalm.com.  We do everything you need in those last days, months, what have you.  One stop shop.  You go out feeling great about it because you know, everyting is taken care of.  Boom.  Secure. The kids, the wife, the dog.  All done. Boom.  But now Dick Tracy doesn't get it and so we have to explain and they're saying but you told us something else and we said, what something else, this is what we told you.  Take it or leave it and you said, and I'm quoting, "We'll take it."  How you gonna miss with this.  Everybody dies right. Everybody needs things taken care of.  We have a mailing list of people on medicare, people in the hospices.  Eberybody north of 50.  We send out a note. How hard is all this shit?"