The Life and Times of Atramental - Year 2033
"Charity is such a bourgeois affectation", he remarks, listlessly swirling the decades-old cabernet in his wine glass while scanning the table. "My philanthropy to my community.. Is my aesthetic. Is that not more valuable than some paper currency to be discarded from their hands like wet tissue?".
He locks eyes with several of his dinner guests, many of whom inexcusably consider themselves his peers. They doggedly nod in agreement, compelled not just by his force of personality, but the nagging suspicion they were gathered here, on this day, for a more sinister purpose. As he lifts the $300 glass to his lips, he is struck by the omission; it did not occur to him that it was even possible. But it did in fact happen, and it must be addressed posthaste.
He claps his glass to the table, gazing past those around him, fixing his attention on a couple on the opposite end of the restaurant. The man, his brow colored in sweat is quickly, and if there is a God in Heaven shamefully, forking his salmon tartare into a corrugated box. Meanwhile female companion searches her tattered purse for a much needed bleach pen. He notices the embossed logo of the restaurant on the man's box, his aesthetic made manifest in this world, but it meant nothing to him.
Under his breath, he chuckles in this moment. This is not important, he realizes. "Robert", he says, moving his eyes across a sea of names he can't bother to remember, "Do you not agree?". Robert, oh how he disliked being addressed as Robert, was a new employee of the firm, typically so: Ignorant of the world, full of idealism and misplaced allegiance. He was also salaried a pittance, but never complained. His hair was unkempt, likely the work of his wife, whom had somehow found the time between to wield scissors like a hatchet between nursing the handful of children they had fabricated together.
Robert raised his head from his plate, nervously glancing around the table for some meager show of support. He could feel the isolation on his skin like the air pressure from a closing door.
to be continued
