He was sitting in the farther of the two burgundy leather chairs across from my desk, half-asleep and struggling to keep his head upright. He didn’t acknowledge my presence in the room until I sat down right in front of him. “How’s it going, Art.” “Oh, you know, just livin’ the dream.” I love when a courteous greeting is met with a morbidly sarcastic response like “just livin’ the dream.” Perhaps I should have felt guilty finding comedy in such complacent hopelessness. I smiled slightly. “What can I do for you? Got another fund you want to pitch?” “Funny, Joe. You know, we’re all treading water here.” “I know, I know. It doesn’t matter anyway. Everything is headed south now.” “Even so, I came here to apologize. Sometimes I’m too willing to give into pressure from above and not willing enough to listen to my people on the front lines.” War analogies. Who was the enemy? “Well, it’s a new week. Let’s see if things turn around.” They didn’t.
