Chapter 15
Tuesday night, I walked into our quiet apartment and gladly slammed the door behind me. Removing my tie, I congratulated myself on not having committed first degree murder that day.
I’d made it through another week of managing Uomo Nuevo without climbing on top of the front counter to deliver a delirious speech on social justice and how all of us were participating in the deterioration of some desperate child’s life somewhere in the world by fueling this relentless capitalist economy with our ridiculous needs to keep up with what the megalomaniacs up on the hill were wearing this month.
God, my clients—all white and rich—were so entitled.
In the living room, I threw my jacket on the chair and went straight to the shelf where we kept our booze. I needed a drink the way my cus
