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Gonzo checked his phone. He had another text from Dante. This was starting to get old.
Gonzo was a thirty year old somewhat blobby Pole. His hair was beginning to thin, and no matter how much deodorant he put on, his armpits were always sweaty. He dressed in the same drab clothes his father always wore—button down shirts that appeared professional, but were in fact quite gross, and blue jeans that could be used indefinitely without ever having to buy new ones.
By contrast, Dante, his college roommate, was a slick, smooth-talking Italian. He slicked back his hair every day, wore his collar open by one button more than was necessary, kissed the gold crucifix around his neck for good luck, and always smelled good. No one knew why—he didn’t even own cologne. He had been raised by his mother from youth, and had a knack for being able to talk his way out of or into any situation, depending on his personal interests.
Neither of them did much work. Gonzo was there because his dad had made a few phone calls. Dante was there because he was a legacy applicant. Did either of them care all that much about academics? No they did not.
Dante had shown a strong acumen for business from the start, but had paid very little attention during his business courses, preferring instead the spontaneity of entrepreneurship.
For his part, Gonzo’s only prerogative was not to flunk out, and let me tell you—it was a near thing. He coasted through college on Ds, and always had a flask hidden somewhere on his person. While he and Dante roomed together, it was rare for him to wake up without a hangover. The fact that he graduated at all was really quite impressive. And may or may not have been due to some sleight of hand involving Dante and some final exam grades.
Despite their differences, he and Dante had gotten along swimmingly. Gonzo was a relatively fun drunk, and was up for almost anything, to include Dante’s harebrained schemes. Dante always required some sort of capital to make them happen, and this became the foundation of their relationship. Gonzo’s dad knew he was no good at school, and simply asked Gonzo to find a way to get through it, no matter the cost. “No matter the cost,” ended up being quite literal, and he gave him free use of his personal credit card to make sure Gonzo had whatever it was he felt he needed to survive his four years. He and Dante got up to frequent shenanigans.
No matter the way it happened, it always resulted in a lot of fun, a lot of money flushed down the drain (sometimes quite literally), and a lot of funny stories Gonzo was able to share later on with his buddies at the bar.
After graduation, they’d gone their separate ways to shoulder their family businesses. Dante’s father ran a bank; Gonzo’s dad ran a mechanic’s shop. Dante became an entry level manager; Gonzo took over the shop when his dad died two years later.
They kept in touch over the years. Dante still usually had some sort of borderline ponzy scheme he was working on, and Gonzo still hadn’t quite learned his lesson about providing funds upon request. Except now it was pretty much just Gonzo with the company credit card, and Dante trying to convince him that whatever business he was currently pitching the one that was going to finally take off and make them all desperately rich.
Six months ago, Dante had talked him into investing again. Gonzo had given in, and had lost four thousand dollars.
He was pretty bitter about it. He felt he’d given Dante more than enough over the course of the past six years, and he was beginning to suspect that perhaps Dante might be full of it. In a flash of rage, he’d told Dante to stop contacting him.
So you can understand why Gonzo was less than excited to receive Dante’s text. As per usual, Dante was promising the moon and stars.
“This is it, man!” he texted him. “This one is different than all the rest! This isn’t just an investment opportunity—this is a job opportunity too! I need a partner! Please text me back!”
Rolling his eyes, Gonzo looked back down at his quarterly financial numbers.
It was dreary work, but it was dependable, and honest. He would rather be doing this than chasing some harebrained scheme with Dante—even though Dante’s shenanigans were admittedly usually more fun. It didn’t matter that his job made him feel dead inside, that he never got to party or go out anymore, or that he felt particularly ill-suited to working in a mechanic’s shop after going to a high-brow university. He hadn’t learned much there, but one thing he had learned was that he was worth more than working someplace like this.
He sniffed, looked around, and picked up his phone.
Hm, he thought to himself. Dante did sound different. Was it possible? Could he have finally stumbled upon an opportunity that really would make both of them rich?
But as soon as he saw the text, their previous misadventures popped into his mind.
No, Dante was Dante.
He was Gonzo, and neither of them was ever going to change.
He took the flask out of his desk drawer, and took a swig. He was going to need it in order to get through these finance reports.
Turning his phone off, he put his head in his hands, did his best to focus, and kept working.
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