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FORTUNATE SON

FORTUNATE SON It’s a strange thing when a person reveals the depth of their depravity through the course of a short conversation. When he leaned against the bar, he sparked up conversation in the way any amiable person would. He was hefty and clean cut and looked to be about thirty. I wouldn’t have guessed that he’d spent two weeks of a twenty-year prison sentence in Nevada before being released only a week before. He had, in his estimation, one of the best lawyers in the state. Best that money could by and it was nice that money was easy. His father had connections, he said, and, if I knew who his father was, I’d understand.

“Who’s your father?”

“Let’s just say he’s someone very important.”

Okay. Fair enough. This guy owned a strip club in Reno and had a very important father. But it didn’t matter anymore because now law forbade him to cross the Nevada State line. I asked him what he had done, but he wouldn’t say. He came back to New York to ‘cool down’.

Meanwhile, the bartender was a cute brunette. She asked our shrouded noble what he would like to drink.

“What would you like, honey?” she asked.

“I want you to pay attention,” he said, “Because when I came in here, you blew me off and I think you’re too fucking stupid for this job. And if you’re going to call me honey, you better be prepared to sit on my lap.”

He ordered a round of drinks for a group of girls having a bachelorette party.

“You understand that,” he asked the bartender, “Or was I going too fast?”

Then he held up a handful of bills and said: “If you want this, you’re gonna have to work for it, honey.”

“I didn’t mean to blow you off.”

“You never know who you’re dealing with,” he said, “Remember that.”

He smiled at me triumphantly; a hero in his own time.