Then Jeff comes out of the bathroom and says, “My underwear was on backwards. How many days has it been like that I wonder…” and he wandered off to buy a Gatorade. We were moving office chairs for a company. Downtown. Sun shining, women walking by nearly too expensive to look at.
Jeff comes back, says “They don’t sell Gatorade in this neighborhood. Only Vitamin Water. $2.50 a bottle.”
“Gatorade is for a lower class than these people,” I tell him.
“But I’m hungover as shit. It works.”
“You need to make more money.”
“I know. I gotta stop hanging around with you and Doug. Go to these bars around here, meet some pretty women. Find out how to get rich.”
“What about your children’s book? I thought that was gonna get you rich.”
“Chompy the talking hamburger that thinks whistling is sad? How do I make a book out of that? Can’t we go direct to a feature film?”
We had the whole of the truck loaded up with office chairs now. They all have similar wheels bases, like an octopus on roller skates. Jeff pulled the rolling door down and the clink of the hook locking was sweet music.