I Led It Into My Bed

She had jet black hair.Like a black Amex card.Fitting, as only multi-millionaires could play with her.I wasn’t a multi-millionaire, but I had ambition. You see that building? Slattery and Donahue. Ghouls and monsters paid defense attorneys six figures to make problems disappear. I made problems disappear. Some rapper rails two lines of coke and shoots someone in a club? Circumstantial, your honor. I represented a mayor once. Fucked a hooker and her heart exploded from all the narcotics he fed her. She laid dead on the bed, with her ass in the air as he continued to completion. This fucking mayor, who joked about his chronic lateness as running on “CP Time”. Colored People’s Time. A racist stereotype that black people were always late. A perfect client to waltz through the hallowed halls of Slattery and Donahue and get me to make his problem disappear. This was an evil place, but I had ambition.She had jet black hair and was the daughter of Chadston Slattery. He liked them young. Usually interns fresh out of college. He had many children, but she was special. Lucy Slattery, with her perfect jet black hair.She had friends in high places. Celebrities. Caked up sows and lobster head looking men that the media call beautiful people and that you should really care about.I was top three percent of my class in Yale. Passed the Bar whilst dealing with the suicide of my mother. It was a slow progression up the law ladder. Others around me burned bright at both ends, while I slowly toiled away. A decade as a senior associate with Slattery.Chadston knew I wanted to make partner, but my father was a laborer from Malta and my mother a Mexican nurse. I wanted to make partner but I wasn’t born into the right class of people. I could enjoy the shade of the tree, but never taste its elusive fruits.Real class reductionism is always transformed into a generalized religion of Christ like victim narratives. I wanted to be the exception, and an opportunity presented itself to be the statistical outlier.Chadston invited me into his office almost a year ago today. I had gotten the mayor off, and presumed I was to be congratulated with a small bonus. Little did I know then that Slattery himself was about to offer me the only thing I desired.“It’s so hard having a legion of striver clerks do your job for you,” he said between puffs of some exotic cigar. A mahogany table separated us. Thick leather chairs were spaced accordingly and the cavernous room smelled of tobacco and cedar wood. A patriarchal space. He continued on, staring straight at me.“Someone, I forget who -- once said that the current elite ‘preaches the 1960’s and lives in the 1950’s’. I think there’s a lot of truth in that,” he said, stubbing the cigar out in the center of the table.“Jacobin in the streets and petite bourgeoisie in the sheets,” he said with that famous shit eating grin. I snickered, playing the minion role.“In the future, being straight will be a lifestyle reserved for the elite,” I said. We’ve had many conversations in the past. I’d stake a claim, only to be rebutted.Chadston smiled. Perhaps that remark resonated with him. I just wanted to know why the fuck I was summoned into Lucifer’s office.“I have a unique problem, Elias. A problem I’m confident only you can fix,” he said.“Have you met my daughter, Lucy?”“Only through reputation and the tabloids.”“I’m at my wits end with her. What I’m about to tell you can’t leave this room,” he said chillingly. Another stogie expertly lit up.“She’s been seeing this rapper five years her junior. A real fucking hustler. My sources tell me --“He struggled to get the words out.“That he’s secretly proposed to her and she has agreed,” he said through gritted teeth. The agitation rippled through his body like electrical currents. Seeing this man in agony gave me pleasure. I once viewed him as a father figure, but then again I was once naïve, too.“Congratulations,” I said, my tongue firmly in my cheek. He continued on, his stare unwavering.“I don’t agree with her life choices and needless to say she doesn’t agree with mine, however -- I firmly believe that she is being taken advantage of in order to access my wealth.”“Forgive me, but I’m not exactly sure how I can be of service –““I need you to break up the engagement. If you’re able to do that, I will make you partner on the spot,” he said. My heart raced. Ambition had finally met opportunity.“What if she genuinely loves him?” I sincerely inquired. Having been engaged once, being a homewrecker didn’t sit quite well with me.“Don’t be facetious, Elias. I’m not on one of your juries,” he lambasted back at me.“I’m genuinely curious as to why you think I’m the man for this particular job,” I asked. The sentimentalist in me demanded an answer. A Thomas Cooley law graduate on the bench in my lifetime.“Because you’re handsome and capable -- I’ve also now added an incentive,” he remarked. It sounded scripted, and it slightly unnerved me. Was I the only candidate? Had others been offered the same opportunity? I decided to test the boundaries of the agreement.“And if I was to be in a position where I was to have sex with your daughter?” I asked with total conviction. He leaned forward, his head seemingly on fire as the smoke from the stogie partially obscured his facial features.“Then you’ll fuck the memory of that nigger out of her,” he said. A full stop if there ever was one.Driving back to my apartment after the meeting, I formulated a plan. I understood the depths of female rage. To men like Slattery, female rage is five inches deep. A plastic emotion which can accommodate objects of many shapes and sizes without causing any permanent changes in the female.I stuck a picture of Lucy on my nightstand. That jet black hair. The voluminous, effervescent green eyes and pure, white skin. Outer worldly and alluring. Without realizing, the night had passed me by as I simply stared at the photograph. Transfixed. To get back on track, I started my research on the rapper fiancé, which lasted all of five minutes. Early twenties and covered in tattoos. A generic hit on the Billboard charts. Several baby mamas and worth just over six figures compared to Lucy’s hundreds of millions that she stood to inherit. It was either a clear case of rebellion and a spiritual fuck you to her father that Lucy was involved with such a delinquent, or love. My instincts steered toward the former. Neoliberalism is just another word for banker socialism after all. If there is a rebellion to be had, it will be had.My phone beeped with a message from old man Slattery that I was invited to Lucy’s 27th birthday party. Hollywood affair. People magazine sponsored and Saint Laurent styled. I had two weeks to break up the relationship or the deal was off. Flying around the country to rabble rouse communities of which you’re not a part makes you an obnoxious interloper, but I decided to play the part.You have ambition, my mother used to always tell me. Damn right, I did. But was I using it to get ahead, or was it using me for something else entirely?A week later I flew across the country and took myself to where the address beckoned me. The doorman greeted me with a toothy grin. Asked for the invitation as the palm trees swayed intoxicatingly in the summer air. Limousines lined the narrow street. Sounds of Midwest Trap filled the air as they proliferated from the mansion gently nestled among the hills.Inside, it was sandstone columns and floor to ceiling windows. Glazed partygoers moved where the wind took them. All looked like they subsisted on a diet of cocaine and hot air. It was a tough scene. Some men aren’t made for such unnatural restrictions on their will. Near the pool, hundreds of people were loading up and mingling. Bursts of laughter drowning amongst the constant splashing of the water. Near the periphery was a familiar face from back East, watching me like a hawk.Slattery’s right hand man, Donny Lewis. Pudgy and bloated. That spot where chin meets jowl made for incredibly treacherous shaving every morning. He was braver than any first responder I ever met. He made his way over.“Lucy is upstairs with Maybach. VIP is open to you,” he said.The abundance of scantily clad females held no interest for Donny. He had no other discernible skill apart from man management, but that’s all you really needed. What all the prestigious colleges don’t teach you is that an individual worker, no matter how intelligent or hard working they are, produce a miniscule amount of actual work. This is why people management has been, and will remain, the most important skill in any modern economy. This is why making partner was the only thing that mattered to me.The VIP room was just a hallway lined with blankets and pillows. Lucy was somewhere near the back, passing a joint between her girlfriends. Maybach, the gaunt rapper with wild eyes was sitting in a beanbag, watching the events with a fascinating curiosity. Not so much a participant, but rather an observer that was ostracized.My presence was immediately felt by Lucy, who lowered her joint and beckoned me over with a shallow wave. The other women instinctively parted from the group, watching me with detached curiosity. Her eyes willed me in; not so much her beauty, which was bountiful, but rather her magnetism, which was unescapable.“My father mentioned you would be joining us, Elias,” she said with a raspy voice. No doubt fried from the copious amount of dope she had smoked. A nearby joint had made its way to me, and I eagerly puffed at it. Smooth and nutty. I wasn’t about to leave any time soon, caught in a web of hedonism and miscreant intentions.When the party died down, Lucy motioned for my hand. The room was stuck in motion, and I had to will myself off the floor in my crumpled suit. The expansive yard outside was bathed in orange and pink light from magic hour. The pool was glistening like a planet made of gas from a nearby solar system.“You ever think all this weed will rob you of your ambition?” I asked with a staccato speech pattern. Her jet black hair impenetrable. Her legs statuesque.“Nothing is more humbling than remembering the ways you consumed weed as a teenager,” she said with a playful swagger. She held my hand as we walked around the outskirts of the mammoth property.“I know my father sent you to seduce me,” she laughed. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s a yearly thing that father does”.“You get engaged every year?” I asked, genuinely curious.“No, but I purposefully date men that father doesn’t approve of as a subtle fuck you for controlling every aspect of my life,” she said.The moon hung suspended in the fast approaching night sky; a blood orange fireball.“Instead of kicking men like you out, I rather prefer getting to know them,” she said. The cat was out of the bag, but I couldn’t allow my dream to slip away on a beautiful Saturday evening.“He promised me fortune and opportunity, but maybe I secretly said yes because I’m looking for a genuine connection,” I said with a straight face.It might have been bullshit in that moment, but who isn’t constantly looking for love? I had my fair share of nubile, young and perky women, but Lucy was a prize.A fire had been lit inside of me. My natural competitive spirit kicking in.“A fun couples’ activity for you and your girl is what if she comes over to your apartment and cries for three hours?” she said.“I would never do this because I’m too virile and strong, but maybe it would be fun for you and your girl,” she said, almost pessimistically.Lucy wasn’t your typical traditional, conservative girl. She didn’t have a Vag of Honor. It was in that precise moment that I decided to proceed with the proposition. She insisted that I stay the night in one of the many vacant rooms. The pot was wearing off, and it was far too late to be entertaining thoughts of logistics. The room was spacious and inviting. A window overlooked the entire pool area, casting luminescent shadows all along the ceiling.There was an envelope on the floor, addressed to me; obviously slid under the door at some stage of the night.The illicit substances I consumed throughout the night had plateaued. With calm hands, I opened the envelope. Printed on white paper was a simple message.“Leave”.Simple, direct and ominous.Splashing sounds from the pool caught my ear. Lucy and Maybach had decided to go skinny dipping. Lucy’s milky white skin juxtaposed against his Ugandan black. Arms and legs intertwined as the water rippled all around them.They kissed. Tongues poking into each other’s mouths like Geckos. Maybach’s hands disappearing inside of her. Lucy seemed absent. Detached. More performance than human connection.At that moment, she looked up at me. No surprise in her expression. As if she had expected me to be there. She held my gaze, as I felt my breaths getting shorter. She held my gaze, and smiled.My dreams that night consisted of my failures. Ten years of sleepless nights. Working on cases. Scheming and constructing closing arguments. Persuading a jury on the benign notions of what empathy entails -- “Empathy” is the inane concept you get when you turn away from religion. A meaningless word for people too cowardly to believe in unchanging, objective moral law. Who think they’re high IQ but really subject to anyone with enough power to make that word mean whatever they want.Ten years of defining empathy on behalf of shitbags. I awoke in a sweat and to another note under the door.“You’re going to die”, this one said.Maybach threatening me? Another suitor from Slattery trying to psyche me out? A test from Lucy to see if I stick around?Breakfast was a continental affair in the courtyard with a few of the guests getting some much needed sunlight. Lucy was serving coffee. Still dazzling with no make-up on her face and wearing a simple linen dress.That black hair crafted into an immaculate pony tail. A rope to climb into her brain and convince her to stop the charade with the rapper. To fulfil Slattery’s bonehead wishes and make partner.She had a plane to catch down South, but she insisted we go for a walk in the nearby hills at midday. The sun was blazing in its ferocity, and I was squinting amidst the haze. Lucy wore a straw hat that made her green eyes open wide.“I only met my biological mother a few times in my late teens”, Lucy said.It didn’t really surprise me given Slattery’s reputation as a cocksman. Traces of empathy filled me for this gorgeous creature. Still, they were only traces.“She gave me the most important advice I ever heard”, Lucy added. There was no one in the picturesque region. Just the two of us for miles in any direction.“She said that your life doesn’t need to have a purpose or a grand ambition. That it’s okay to just wander through life finding interesting things until you die,” Lucy said with a smile.“Seems like a great philosophy for someone who looks like you,” I interjected.I also told her that without her father’s money, she’d be forced to either earn it herself or marry rich to afford that specific mentality.“I don’t believe in equality in relationships. I wholeheartedly believe in female supremacy. I’m the complete opposite of a ‘pick me’. Understand this before making attempts to date me”, she said with a casual confidence.She held my hand, and it felt electric. Not that romantic bullshit, but molecularly. I held it for as long as I could before letting go.Date me?It was obvious she was stringing me along, but for what purpose? I usually knew all the angles, yet I was hopeless around her.There was a gala event to raise funds for a Democratic Senator the following weekend at the same mansion, and I was duly invited. When pressed for her reasoning in doing so, she remained coy.She said I was different to the other suitors her father had sent over. That I didn’t immediately start scheming and manipulating her.“Less greed and more infatuation”,” she said.I’d argue it was both in equal measure, but I played along. My hand had burned ever since she held it. Sniffing it, it smelt primal. As if the seeds of nature had woven a careful and precise tapestry that forced its way inside my consciousness. There was an imprint of her palm inside mine, and it stung whenever I held a pen or something else that was made with artificial materials.It was difficult to keep focus at work. Irrespective of where you point an MRI on a person over thirty, you have a very strong chance of finding significant damage, even in places without pain. Defending human garbage was taking a significant toll on me. My view is that this planet is used as a penal colony, lunatic asylum and dumping ground by a superior civilization to discard the undesirable and the unfit.I can’t prove it, but you can’t disprove it either.Being back in my New York apartment, it gave me pause to reflect. There were several cases I had to go over with a fine comb. Initiate contact with vermin represented by egotistical executive assistants. Yet all I could think about was Lucy. My hand pulsing with every heartbeat. Her scent growing stronger by the minute.She had marked me.The next morning I awoke to another sealed envelope delivered under my door. Simple instructions.“Criniti’s at noon”.I arrived twenty minutes early and ordered a Negroni. Seated at a good vantage point, I studied those around me. Lawyers and financiers. Shallow stream fish. I started to see what might happen next and it was pretty depressing. The worst, most insane people will do the same thing they’ve been doing for years but with fewer brakes, more institutional support and without meaningful opposition. They’ll go searching for enemies.They’ll come for me.Maybach walked into the restaurant. Made a beeline and sat directly opposite me.“I’m not surprised it’s you,” I admitted truthfully.“You need to quit this,” he said. Looking left and right. Paranoid.“This isn’t personal. I’m not trying to steal your woman as a show of dominance,” I said almost pleadingly.“I know the score. You’re not the first. You ever hear of Chris Popovski?” he asked.“Yeah, he was in Finance at the firm. Took a job in the Chicago division last year,” I answered. My curiosity widening.“No, he didn’t," Maybach answered rather forcefully. My drink had arrived and he gulped half of it in one swoop. The cocky, chilled demeanor from the party was noticeably absent.“Why did you want to meet me?” I asked genuinely. The situation was awkward enough.“To warn you,” he said with a sour tone.“Do you love her?” I asked.“This isn’t about love,” he replied with a snort. As if I offended him.Another lengthy sip from my cocktail and he was out. Looking over his shoulder as he entered the street and disappeared into a sea of flesh.Back in my apartment, I started pacing. My hand was throbbing, and every time I put it against my mouth, all I could taste was her. A cold shower didn’t help. Holding my penis in my left hand, I could feel the pulse of her going into me.My brain circumventing itself. I needed work to distract me. I commenced my research to discredit a whistle-blower from a hedge firm. She had discovered a $200 million accounting entry for security expenses with no supporting invoices. She and her team worked discreetly at night to eventually unearth $2.4 billion in fraudulent accounting entries. She had an abortion a few months earlier and there were whispers of her having an affair with another executive.Whispers that I could turn into a split jury.My throbbing hand had subsided, but my thoughts turned untamed and fierce. My mind ran rampant. There was no end in sight for my obtuse soliloquies. I had no control. All I could think about was her.My dreams started to get worse with each successive night. I pondered; when a child is born, families often hope it will turn out intelligent. I, through intelligence, have wasted my whole life. It’s only when one is born ignorant and stupid that they will lead a happy existence. I pondered; my name had become the German word for the satisfaction you feel when you observe awful people realizing they are surrounded by awful people and suffering. The path of morality had long been eroded, forgotten from memory. Covered in shrubbery and necklaced with accelerant. I burned in bright embers for my strawman had come to life. Became the worst version of myself.I pondered; I need a fucking drink.Friday had approached and I was beckoned back to L.A. Lucy had upgraded my seat to first class, with a glass of champagne upon seating. There were a few casual, late night conversations during the week. In spite of her unobtainable beauty, she gave the impression that you stood a chance.“As far as romantic gifts are concerned, a bouquet of flowers is undeniably ass. Great, I guess I’ll go find a ‘vase’ and fill it with ‘water’ now. Thanks for the craft project, motherfucker,” she said whilst eating a bowl of microwavable Ramen.“What about lingerie?” I enquired. Sleaziness oozing out of me. My prefrontal cortex suddenly non-existent.“Better. Jewelry? Not great. Literature is only good if you really think I’ll like it. An activity of some sort is delightful. A home cooked meal is divine,” she revealed with a mouthful of noodle.“Dick is timeless, though,” I blurted.“Dick is timeless,” she alluringly repeated.Picking me up from the airport, we rode through the hills once more, as she took me to a place where her mother used to bring her as a child. A pretty lake nestled amongst some Pinewood trees. No one around. We disrobed to our underwear and entered the picturesque body of water.She had asked me if I wanted to kiss her, and I said yes, I did. Very much so. Her tongue slipped into my mouth and it felt like an electric eel shocking me into oblivion. Her black hair remained straight, penetrating the water like a heavy sinker. My hands gently rubbed her body, but she immediately pulled away. Swam toward the shore in a backstroke, her gaze never leaving mine.We held hands on our drive back to her sandstone mansion in the middle of Laurel Canyon. Her heartbeat matched mine, as I felt it pulsate up and down my vertebrae. Parking on the side of the road, I enquired why she had invited me.“I’m not leaving Maybach, and you’re not going to make partner. You will be moved to Chicago and then exported somewhere else, never to be given an opportunity to progress again,” she said with the coldest of tones.“You made me come all the way here just to tell me that?”“I’ll be done with the formalities around eleven thirty. I want you to stay the night,” she said rather coyly.“Why?” I said rather bluntly. She rubbed my shoulders and gave me a cheeky smile.“Just relax and let it be fun for a while,” she said with a hint of playfulness.That playfulness led me into her private bedroom, a room of scarce decoration and hint of coldness in the summer air. The bedsheets were linen. I sat on the edge of the bed, snorting her cocaine that had been left for me.With my mind ablaze, my thoughts ran free spirited in my head. My future as a lawyer within the prestigious halls of Slattery and Donahue were effectively over. What was I to do? Quit? Become a “professional?” In my experience, people who do things “professionally” like PhD academics, code drones and the like are usually incredibly lazy, have little desire to pursue the advancement of the things they devote their lives to beyond the confines of what their employer tells them to do nine to five. I had ambition, and all I could show for it was a potential fuck with a woman who dripped sex. If you enjoy your dopamine hits from low value sources then you are screwed.The hours had passed with my cocaine enhanced manic brain in overdrive. I was chomping at the bit, and then she walked in. Wearing a flimsy dress with her left breast showing. Pouted lips. I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but in that precise moment, I didn’t care. She leaned over me, her towering figure cloaking mine, and kissed me.“Is this just a pity fuck?” I asked with a hint of bitterness.“How about we make it worthwhile?” she said with a calm casualness.I started to devour her, my lust taking over every fiber of my being. My aggression of being played from the outset manifesting in my movements. She seemed to enjoy it, but even then, everything seemed like an act and I was the punchline.This is the part where it gets a little murky.There was no precise moment when it happened. At one point, I was on top of Lucy, thrusting as hard as I could, when she gripped me with her vagina. She suddenly stood up, her strength superhuman, and I was too find out later, most definitely not of this world.With a cement like grip on my throbbing penis, she covered my mouth with her left hand and stared deep into my eyes. Her mouth in a small, wry grin.“Promise me you won’t fight it?” she asked.Barely able to breathe, I started to panic, my heart beating like a Lebanese drum from fear and cocaine. With me securely attached in her love grip, she effortlessly opened the door with her free hand and proceeded down the winding stairs.My cock inside her, gripped fierce. Her eyes then suddenly turned white. Beady pupils. Insect-like. In the foyer, empty. In the distance, a muffled monotone. A low rumble chant. My eyes, wide. Filled with dread, panic and despair.“Don’t be afraid of what happens next,” she said with a sliver of the tongue.She trudged to a closed wooden door, as a servant opened it. His gaze to the floor. Never above the horizontal. The sound of tearing flesh, as the skin from Lucy’s head started to split open. A spray of blood covered my face, temporarily blocking my view of my immediate surroundings.I heard the doors open all the way, as the robotic chanting filled my ears. It came in waves, and always in a precise tone. The sound entered my body and refused to leave. As the blood slowly dripped down my face, I was able to open my eyes. Hundreds of people, all lined up against the wall, down on their knees. Their hands clasped together in a praying stance. Each wearing a red tunic and speaking in tongues.Lucy walked into the center of the room, her head now resembling a Mantis. Her beak-like snout and mandibles. Opening wide. I managed to swivel my neck to the side, gasping for air amid her ferocious grip.I spotted Slattery on the wooden floorboards, watching the proceedings from his knees. He made eye contact with me. No expression or recognition on his face. Just anticipation. After parading me to the guests, Lucy revealed herself. She shed all her skin, from neck to toe. Silky green legs and exoskeleton visible in the low light of the cavernous room. Stretching her legs, Lucy rose ten feet into air, as my nude body hung like an ornament on a demented Christmas tree.There was a king sized bed in the center of the extravagant space, as Lucy led me into her bed. A circle formed around it, all the men crawling on their hands and knees. She proceeded to kiss me, her tongue darting in and out of my mouth. Up and down my throat. Every time I felt like gagging, she’d retract.I spotted Maybach give me a sad stare. No doubt he’s seen countless of these rituals. He tried to warn me and I brushed him off. Maybach, your fiancé is a fucking Praying Mantis.The chanting started to crescendo, as Lucy grabbed both my ankles and spread my legs. An upside down Jesus Christ. Atoning for my sins and wrongs, no doubt. She bit into my crutch, tearing away my penis and testicles in one motion. Blood dripping down my back and chest. Into my screaming mouth, choking me. Lucy then started tearing into my flesh, up and down my left thigh. Small, quick bites and swallows. All in the same motion.My final thoughts went to my mother. Her last words on her death bed.“You’ll never be truly fulfilled if your purpose is not bigger than yourself,” she gasped with cancer filled lungs.Her final words damning me to Hell for eternal damnation. Sorry, Ma. I should’ve listened.My left leg devoured, Lucy started eating my right. Her appetite ravenous. The arc of history is long but it bends back into itself so that both ends meet, forming a circle. My father taught me greed, and I listened with clarity, turning a deaf ear to anything else. In my last minute of life, I forced myself to conceptualize what I had learned during my thirty four years of existence. You want a traditional life, with a little wife at home baking and acting all happy? You need to make half a million dollars a year. Half a million dollars or you’re a hustling piece of excrement like me.My right leg gone, Lucy held onto my left arm, as she started to nibble my triceps. She slowed down, and the crowd fell in suit. Their bloodlust either satisfied or simply keeping rhythm. John Bonham keeping pace on my Stairway to Hell.Whatever, I just lost my cock.To hell with theory.Just finish me off you demented cunt of a woman.And then, she dropped me onto the bed. Legless, along with just a slither of an arm left. I lay in a crumpled heap; broken and disfigured. Lucy leaned down over the bed, her beady eyes staring at me. With a smile, she picked up my chin and raised it so it was level with her blood covered jaw.“I just saved your life,” she said without a hint of irony or malice.As I slowly passed out from the loss of blood, she smiled at me. As my eyelids closed, I swore she blew me a kiss.I don’t remember how I got to hospital in Newark, but I was heavily bandaged and the bills were taken care of through my health insurance. Thank you, Slattery. Your coverage was always exemplary.Rehabilitation took many months, as the muscles and staunch fibers in my arms developed enough to push a modern wheelchair around. Half motor-assisted, half human powered. Almost a year to the day, I rolled myself out of Tristate Health and Wellness Medical Care Center. My physiotherapist was convinced I’d salvaged my dignity and humanity over the course of the year. Rolling down the exit ramp, I felt more human than when I did being stretchered in. I rolled myself down to Slattery and Donahue, not having seen the place in quite a while.For closure’s sake.Rolled to this very table and ordered a cappuccino with a metal straw. Plastic the new Satan. Lucy waltzed out with Maybach, his face a look of blissful concern, if that were even possible. She looked as beautiful as ever, as I watched them go down 13th Street.There was no closure.I was eaten by some intergalactic insect that spared me for some inexplicable reason.Lessons learned?Avoiding scale is the recipe for happiness. Keep a small group of close friends, work with a small team of people, and avoid big law firms. Economically, the idea is absurd. Emotionally, it increasingly feels true.I googled a support group for the recently disabled. Wheeling Forward. Nearby location. Plenty of ramps on site. Free coffee. I got there early and started chatting with the organizer. Nice woman. Late sixties and a paraplegic. It got busy around eight o’clock when I recognized a familiar face.Chris Popovski.Took the senior attorney role in Chicago a few years back. Well, evidently not. More familiar faces started rolling in. There was Pete that got moved to Baltimore. There was Andrew who got shafted to D.C. Adam who got managed out to San Francisco.So many familiar faces that a mild panic washed over me. So many familiar faces with missing limbs.They all formed a makeshift circle around me. Warm smiles with positive energy.“Hello, Elias,” Chris said with a gentle nod of the head.“We’ve been expecting you”. via /r/scarystories https://ift.tt/34vIg8e