"Morning, Larry!" I waved to my neighbor. Larry waved back with his cane in hand, and hit it against the ceiling light.

"Ope, probably shouldn't do that!" he laughed.

"Working on your Fred Astaire routine?"

"You know it!"

"Gotta go, Larry, but nice seeing ya!" I said. I wasn't in any hurry except to see what surprises this Friday 2: Electric Boogaloo held.

Mr. Ryerson was right that spring brought fresh air, though I couldn't find any flowers on my way to the train. The morning commute wasn't the best time for admiring nature, I supposed. I boarded my usual train.

"...you don't look like you'd have a tattoo," Dennis said to Abby, who seemed no more amused the second time.

"Hey Dennis! Hey Abby! How's it going?" I interrupted.

"I was just telling Dennis how much it sucks to live in a town full of hicks," Abby groaned.

"What's got a bee in your bonnet? I grew up around these parts. They're good people," Dennis said woundedly.

"What makes them hicks?" I asked.

"They ask silly questions, like what tattoos I have or where I'm really from," she said, making eye contact.

"That sucks."

"What's got you dressed up today?" Dennis asked.

"Big sales presentation for Mr. Robinson," I said, not sure if they'd already heard the details.

"He's hard to please."

"His mistress pleases him," Abby said.

"I've always found him inspirational," Dennis continued.

"Oh really?" I said, leaning in.

"He reminds me of this podcast I listen to—have you listened, Mike, to Troy Bentley's podcast?"

"It sounds familiar... I think you've told me about it. It's 'The Measure of a Man,' right?"

"Right on. You see, in modern society, things are awful for us. We're being demonized in the media, being blamed for all of the world's problems, and the natural order of things is changing. The glass floor we stand on is crumbling to pieces."

"I'm not so sure I agree," I said thoughtfully. "What do you think, Abby?"

Abby groaned again.

"Troy Bentley is a psycho who poisons the minds of teenagers all over the nation. Give me a microphone, because I'm gonna give a speech about his misogyny if you let me."

"This is exactly what I mean!" Dennis exclaimed. He leaned in conspiratorially, like I was being let in on a secret about how the world truly worked.

Abby cleared her throat. "Our stop's next." She again changed into high heels, and this time I lingered while Dennis marched ahead, presumably wishing to avoid any more awkward conversation.

"Have anything interesting planned at work today?" I asked.

"I'll probably be gaslit again into thinking a fifty-hour workweek is normal."

"Keep your chin up. Just one more day and it's the weekend."

"TGIF, am I right?"

We parted ways once we entered Infinitech, and I felt bad for her for reasons that I couldn't put words to.

Dennis caught up to me in the coffee line a few hours later. I'd spent the morning revising my presentation until my mouth went dry, either from anxiety or dehydration.

"Working hard or hardly working, my friend?" he asked, putting his arm over my shoulder. "You gotta take it easy. I don't know how you keep that smile on your face working the hours you do."

"I'm a bit stressed about this presentation, honestly. I'm imagining the worst."

"That's a loser attitude, Mike. If you want something, you have to imagine it until you're licking your lips and feel your heart beat against your chest. That's greed, and greed is good. That's what Troy Bentley says."

"He seems to say a lot."

"He's a man of many words. I don't know what else to say about him."

"I see Dennis the Menace is back!" Jordan called out, cutting his way in front of him. I liked Jordan for no reason other than that he carried himself smartly and dressed sharply. He was from California, and used that as a synonym for "cosmopolitan". I once thought everyone from California was a hippie. Jordan proved that wrong.

"There's a line, my friend. Move it."

"What's the big deal? They aren't gonna run out of coffee. Don't listen to Troy Bentley, Mike. He's a grifter. I read on Reddit that he's been selling these bogus penile enlargement—"

"Male enhancement pills, Jordan, and they're necessary these days. There's estrogen in soy, and they put soy in everything these days. Read any ingredient label and you'll see 'hemolyzed soy protein' and all those carcinogens."

"They eat tofu in California, right?" I asked Jordan for his expertise. "Surely they don't get cancer over there."

"They have all those labels on everything warning about carcinogens. Troy Bentley avoids all that by eating paleo," Dennis explained confidently.

"A prehistoric diet for his prehistoric views. It's a natural fit," Jordan quipped.

We all ordered our coffee, and I wondered if the barista was used to overhearing conversations like ours. I think being snippy with each other like they are is part of the company culture, though I try my hardest to stay out of it. My dad once told me that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar.

"What's got you dressed up today?" Jordan asked after Dennis abandoned us.

"I'm presenting to Mr. Robinson on how we should expand into the Hong Kong market."

"He's a piece of work. But anyway, Hong Kong's a good place to do business, or anywhere around there. Hong Kong, Thailand, Taiwan, Burma—they call it the Milk Tea Alliance. An upwardly mobile, democratically aspirational middle class is great for the economy."

"Is that what you talk about in your Cantonese language advocacy group?"

"That's such a clunky name, but yeah. I think you'll be fine. I'm off to nibble my brunch at my desk like a chipmunk and daydream."

"Happy Friday!" I said back, and went to my own desk. I wasn't confident it was a happy Friday, more like one of those days where you can feel in the air that lightning's about to strike, but there was no use in pulling him down.

A bit after lunch (this time I got a Caprese sandwich), Mr. Ryerson knocked and let himself in.

"Hey Mike, how's it going?" Mr. Ryerson asked.

"Better than ever!" I said. "I'm still putting the finishing touches on the proposal packet, but I printed out a draft copy if you want to see."

Mr. Ryerson took it and did a quick flip-through.

"I like how you used the heavy-stock paper. This is good stuff! I think this shows how you've taken feedback well and grown in your core knowledge areas. I can tell graphic design is your passion."

"Thanks, Jim."

"I think Mr. Robinson will be impressed. Keep it up, I just wanted to surprise you with a little pep talk."

"I had a sense you'd swing by."

Mr. Ryerson chuckled, like he did after telling me dad jokes.

"We can debrief Monday morning. Have a good weekend, Mike. Enjoy this great weather when you get a chance. I know it's your first spring out here. There's nothing better than breathing in clean air and watching nature wake up."

"Will do, boss. Any plans yourself?"

"Jennifer has her ballet recital, so she's really nervous about that. It's toddler ballet, so they kinda just run around in circles, but she has fun anyway."

"I'm sure you're proud of her."

"I always am. Take care."

I liked Mr. Ryerson because he was a family man, and I think having a kid made him a bit softer and less, I don't know, needle-like in how he poked his nose into my business than some people here. I hadn't ever heard anyone say anything bad about him, and while I'd heard those complaints about Mr. Robinson, it was hard to see the bad side of him. Even when he'd shot down my proposal the other day.

"I already gave him a printed copy of your report—I think he'll be impressed. Good luck," Mildred said with a faint smile, and pushed a bowl of mints toward me. I took one and popped it like an aspirin.

"Thanks, Mildred!" I said, and walked in to face my fate.

Instead of standing slack-jawed in the center of the room, I approached his desk, barely letting him stand to greet me with a handshake.

"I love the painting. Is that a Kandinsky?" I asked.

"It's one of my favorite works. It's meant to symbolize the atrocities of the Russian Revolution."

"I like thinking about history like that. Those who don't study history are doomed to repeat it."

"Nah, Infinitech doesn't have to worry about revolutions. We're past what we did back in Nicaragua. You know, when we funded the Sandinistas."

"I didn't know that."

"Not many people do. Do you want a drink?" he asked, pointing to the whiskey.

"I'd love some. Where's it from?"

"You know your whiskey?"

"No, but I'm eager to learn."

"It's from a distillery in Tennessee, my home state. You can probably hear the twang in my voice. Anyway, I loved your report. This is the caliber of work I expect from people whose reports make it to my desk. Who's your boss?"

"Mr. Ryerson. James."

"Jim's trained you well! I was curious about the budget figures you estimate in the middle, when we're looking at the total cost of implementation. Isn't that ambitious for a new market?"

"It's a lot, certainly, but we can't risk failure in Hong Kong. It's a rising power, part of the Milk Tea Alliance and all that. If we fail, we lose it all."

"The Milk Tea Alliance? What's that?"

"It's an alliance of aspiring democratic powers. Taiwan, Hong Kong, and two others I'm forgetting."

"They're all gonna fall to the mainland eventually," Mr. Robinson said with a dismissive wave. "That's how the world works. The strong eat the weak. With those geopolitical factors you mention, it makes me wonder if we ought to be playing it safe. There's a lot riding on this, as you said, and what happens if we lose our investment should Hong Kong lose its spark?"

"I think that would be unfortunate, but that might open up a thriving domestic market in China—"

"They don't respect intellectual property at all there, it's a losing proposition! So you see what I mean here: this is all very risky, and we can't have that here. Business, real business, isn't what you see on TV with its cocaine-fueled gambles—at least how we do it here. It's science, as precise as my Swiss watch. I think you make many compelling points here, and I think it's entirely true that we have a lot to gain, but we also have a lot to lose. You don't get all the whiskey and Porterhouse you've ever dreamed of by gambling.  And my gut tells me that this is a win, what I'm holding in my hand. But if I had to die on a hill for this in front of my boss, her boss, his boss, and the CEO, I don't think this is what we're looking for. Meet me next life, when we're reincarnated in an utopia with all the world's steak in our hands. Then we could."

"I understand," I said, the whiskey gurgling in my stomach for a second time. The mint didn't help.

"I'll keep this on file, though. I might give this to someone else to tinker with."

"Understood."

"And I'll be sure to give Jim feedback that you delivered me a spectacular report. You know, if luck is the lady I know she is, you'll eventually get the chance to join this Hong Kong expansion."

"Thank you, Mr. Robinson. And thank you for the whiskey. Finest I've ever had."

"Keep the bottle. It's rare someone of your generation appreciates the good stuff. I'm switching over to Japan anyway. Next time you're here, you might be drinking Suntory."

"If there is a next time," I laughed.

"I think a bright young man like yourself will find his way up here again."

"He gave it to me," I said to Mildred as I left. "Finest whiskey I've ever had."

"You can take Mr. Robinson out of Tennessee, but you can never take Tennessee out of Mr. Robinson," she said cheerily.

"Thanks again," I said through a thin smile, and I boarded the elevator. The whiskey still felt caustic on my gullet, but it went down easier than the first time. I imagined it sloshing down like a waterfall, and felt a sudden urge to use the restroom by my office. I had drunk a lot of water that day because of my dry mouth.

Jordan and Abby came by again to interrupt my recuperation.

"Abby and I wanted to come by and congratulate you on your presentation. How did it go?" Jordan asked from the doorframe.

"Terribly. He said Hong Kong was too risky of a market given the geopolitics. I even mentioned that Milk Tea Alliance you talked about, but he wasn't convinced. I don't know why I went through all this work if he's convinced from the beginning it's a losing proposition."

"Some would say that's the purpose of sales, to convince people to change their preexisting views," Jordan said. "Looks like he gave you a bottle of whiskey though. He can't have hated it that much."

"It's Tennessee whiskey."

"You should get out of here and celebrate by drinking it all," Abby laughed. "It's TGIF. That's what I'm doing tonight."

"Do you still have your Cantonese meeting tonight, Jordan?" I asked.

"What else would I be doing on a Friday night?"

"I don't get why you're into that. I know you speak the language, but you're white," Abby said, with a clear lack of appreciation for Jordan and his Californian habits.

"You volunteered with that group to save the sea turtles, right?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Are you a sea turtle?" Jordan asked snidely, picking up my stapler for emphasis. "Do you speak sea turtle, going blrblrblrblrblrt or whatever sound a sea turtle makes—"

"Jordan, I get the point."

"You're both right. I should go out and treat myself to a pity dinner," I said.

"Wish I could join you. I'm gonna head back and get some work done. Don't stay too late, Mike," Jordan said. He put down my stapler and left.

"Do you actually want a pity dinner? I'll be downtown anyway. It's no good seeing you so solemn," Abby said, lingering where Jordan stood.

"Nah, too depressing."

"Keep your chin up," Abby said, and she left too.

I lost myself in my work until six, when I felt ready to leave. I worked more quickly, and that meant I could get more done. If my presentation had gone well, I'd have absolved myself of my responsibilities, but I wanted to end the day on a high note. I sent a good email to Heather asking if she'd had a chance to offer feedback on my other PowerPoint. She'd not respond until Monday, but it was a good email.

Heather O'Hara (I remembered her surname because Gone with the Wind was one of my favorite movies) was another new hire who started when we did. Her family was in factories or textiles or agriculture or something that gave her a history she once told me stretched back before the Civil War. She was cheerful to work with, and I saw her often. Just not today.

I went straight home from work, ignoring my yearning for a burger. Thankfully I had leftovers. I slept soundly and quickly, thinking I should ask Heather next time I saw her how things were going, and woke up to the same article from my dad.

"How's work?" he had asked.

I could use that burger.