SLATER AND SLATER
Frederick had a good idea. Jelly wrestling, three girls, then, five or six big pig dogs come in and just jump in there and start, ripping at their flesh but the girls, they’re like laughing and trying to play with them even as the dogs are sinking their teeth into their legs, bellies and breasts, and their hair is mixed with jelly and blood and the dogs are like pure muscle and going crazy like devils and the girls are sort of screaming laughing and almost like fucking the dogs and squirming, you know. How to film that though? Johnno thought of lots of spliced close ups and then Fred was all like real dogs but tame and real girls and like fake blood but is that enough? and then James, you know, the boss, just kept asking how does this sell beer and we’re like it’s a joke, you know, like how guys like jelly wrestling and dogs and it’s like, overkill, you know…all those other ads with girls and cars and beer but he didn’t get it he just wanted jelly wrestling and like loud rock music or something and we were saying that’s not interesting and back and forth and so we had to go and come up with some more concepts but instead we were so pissed off we just went on an early lunch down at Henry’s. What a shit hole really but the damn place is right next to the office and it’s like four bucks a beer so we just bought beer and Tom bought some wedges and that was that.
“Fucking hell I thought James would go for that, man!”
“We didn’t pitch it right, I mean, we didn’t have the images right”
“Yeah, we need some photo outfit to get some glam shots of that shit”
“Yeah yeah like, some stills of some hot models covered in like jelly and blood and stuff”
“Got to be blondes…GOT to be blondes”
“I’m getting another round”
And we had rounds, four rounds or something because what faggot wouldn’t buy a round? Normally Tom but we made him get a round, trying to get out of it buying some wedges, fuck that, get some beers AND some wedges Tom you asshole. Nancy at the front desk, sexy bitch, was all smiles and giggling because she could tell we were all half pissed and Johnno was like ‘what you doing tonight’ like he always does and she says something like ‘nothing with you’ the playful little thing and we get in the lift and Fred lights a cigarette and we’re telling him to put it the fuck out and he does one floor from the office and the doors open and we pour out all smoke and loose suits but you know that’s what we do and who the fuck is going to say anything…come up with better work and then we’ll talk. There’s a new girl in the office and she’s all open eyes and saying nothing so, you know, screw her she doesn’t know who we are and it’s back in our office and Fred rips down the cards with the dogs and shit on them and says ‘next!’ and we get out our pads and phones and I say ‘what next? That’s the fucking idea. Lets pitch it to the client!’ and Johnno says we can’t because of James and as much as we all think fuck him it’s not how it’s done, asshole got his hands so tight around the clients scrotums they’d never go with anything he wasn’t sitting there smiling about with his big shit-eating endorsement. Whatever, got to make this sex and death thing more appealing…how the fuck can you advertise some beer with the slogan ‘Get it down your throat’ I mean, that’s aggressive right I mean what else do they want? Their last piece of thirty second garbage was some Swedish skiers malarkey and it’s all about blow jobs and snow and swallowing frozen sperm or piss or something and like THAT’S okay? Tom closes the blinds and Fred lights another cigarette, Johnno gets the small bottles of scotch out of his drawer and sets them on the table, I take one and pour it onto a glass ‘ice?’ but no one filled up the bar fridge
“Fucking hell! How hard is it to fill it up the fucking sink is right there, or wait no, there’s a jug of water in the fucking fridge right there, jesus’
“Shut up Sash it was probably you”
“Yeah right, like I’m a cunt huh?”
“Just drink it neat you baby, or splash some of your ‘fridge water’ in it”
“That’s not a bad idea, Johnno, pass me the jug”
And so I tip some of the water in and we can get on with it…a new idea to sell this piss tasting beer.
“Beer bongs?”
“Nah…too teen”
“Too obvious”
“Well, they did go with cock sucking Swedish chicks…”
“All right fine…what about a DUDE wrestling with the chicks?”
“And what is he getting down his throat”
“Like, like a freeze frame at the last second of some chick with half her hand down his throat, and his eyes are all bulging and he’s all red and about to throw up, you know, like, gagging, and it’s like freeze frame in the moment and then: Greigsons…Get it down your throat…BANG”
“Right and then we do like, five of them with shit getting stuffed down throats right, like, choking on a pie or like, sword swallowers or…”
“Porn chick”
“Fuck imagine…that would be cool…yeah…okay…not bad”
“Ha! That’s hilarious!”
“Ok ok, Tom, draw something up…lets see how it’ll looks for a pitch”
“Fucking geniuses again…what was that like, five minutes”
“No way Fred, we were talking about that all lunch remember”
“Oh yeah…expense account!”
“Fucking A”
The afternoon wears on but we’re done here really so we wait until Tom has finished mocking up the stills and they look pretty good and the little bottles are gone so I email Nancy to fill it up for tomorrow and we have a few more cigarettes and grab out jackets and leave. James is n the hall and he stops Johnno and they go into his office but the rest of us get in the lift. Me and Fred get out at the lobby but Tom takes it down to the basement. Typical Tom.
* * *
The morning sun makes the office look all yellow and like we’re still in the 1960s. Doesn’t help that the office was actually built in the 1960s and the tiny windows that were so cool back then just make this air conditioned hell hole even seedier, pinholes of light blasting in on otherwise dark cubicles. The account managers bashing away in their cells trying to place pissy little ads in magazines or newspapers or, fuck! The end of the industry…online advertising. Like anyone buys shit from a ugly banner ad. These kids have no idea, all fresh-faced, fancy designer clothes, nice university degrees that say ‘digital communications’ or ‘social media’ bullshit. You want money? Get your shit onto TV period. Thirty seconds to get some sitting-at-home-on-their-useless-fat-ass idiot to bother to get out their credit card the next time they’re in some shitville store and buy some useless crap they think they need just because we told them to. That’s it. You want to know what stuff we’ve sold? Okay, toothpaste, okay? Oraldent. Used to be some ugly all-white too-minty paste that no one would ever consider buying…tucked down there at the bottom of the shelf with the crappy ‘we contain no fluoride’ shit for weirdos and hippies…and especially not when the ‘family trusted’ brands like Colgate and Macleans have such a duopoly. What we did? Oral dent. Dent. Oral. Do the maths. We had every fucking male teen from the age of fourteen to THIRTY buying that paste. Why? Because why the fuck would you want to raise a family when your could get a blow job every morning, or even the idea of a blow job every morning. Even if it’s a joke. Even if you don’t even think you’ll ever get a blow job in the morning, it doesn’t matter. Now they’re the number two selling toothpaste in this country because we know what makes dumb fucks tick. Tick. Ha, that’s a joke. We need to get some more god damn titis in here. Fucking bosses keep hiring these faux-beard ‘Gen X’ in touch with the skaters douchebags…we’ve got more semen piling up in here than a fucking sperm bank. Sorry, crap line but you get my meaning. Everyone’s twittering like the world’s gonna end…fucking hundred years time the world’s hard drives are gonna be full of useless puke about people’s ‘day-to-day’. Day to day? Since when did anyone care about day to day? We have entertainment, books, movies, art, music and god knows how many things specifically designed for us to forget about the annoying morose day-to-day! God, these kids…they could use a drink, and just as soon as I stop flirting with the girls in the café that’s exactly what I’m going to do: The blondes getting their herbal teas and wheat free muffins are all cute and stuff but they must look at me like I’m some hard skinned monster but, you know, it’s cool to play with the whole they-have-to-worship-me-because-I’m-senior-partner stuff and they just say whatever nice thing pops in their empty suck-cock-to-get-ahead brains, about my tie or my shoes or (god) my cologne, which, by the way, is just good scotch and maybe a few squirts of Ralph Lauren whatever is new. Didn’t even mention the watch…wouldn’t even know it’s an Omega.
“Long black darling and don’t you dare out any sugar in it”
“Of course not mister Bernstein”
“You been here long?”
“You ask that every day”
“Do I? And what do you say?”
“I’ve been here three weeks Mr…”
“Sash, okay…did I ever tell you to call me that before? Seeing as you’ve been here three weeks I must’ve told you to call me Sash before”
“Yes…you did…but…”
“But what?”
“The other partners they….I call them…like mister and…”
“Okay okay, so…you’re thinking ‘this up-his-ass prick’ is, what, just like all the other up-their-ass pricks so even though he is saying ‘don’t call me mister’ he actually means please keep treating me like a fucking up-his-ass prick is that right?”
“Oh, (laugh) oh no…it’s (laugh/giggle thing) no…”
“Okay, okay so…from now on…okay…from now on you’re going to call me…what?”
“Um…Sash”
“Perfect…Sash, okay…and we’re not going to do this again, right?”
“No Sash”
“Excellent…and it’s a long black you’re making?”
“Yes Sash”
“Great”
So I have to deal with this fucking idiot just to get a coffee, right? So instead I can pay two dollars fifty downstairs or deal with this? Okay okay…’thanks’ I say and take my coffee out of there and remember that I can just buzz Katy to get me a coffee and why the hell not, it’s her job and I wouldn’t have to talk to that three-week idiot again but then of course those insipid yet easy ‘account manager’ girls are there, but, you know like not worth it. In the office Tom and Johnno are already doing something and I don’t really want tog get involved right now and Fred’s on the phone talking some bank stuff so I tip some scotch into my coffee and wait for us to start the meeting.
* * *
Tom’s got another bruise on his cheek he’s covered in foundation, like we can’t tell, the idiot, get carried away doesn’t he and forgets who’s in charge or actually likes it (!). So, SHOES ARE FOR FEET, that’s what we’re dealing with today and Johnno’s on to all these ideas like ‘crushing’ and ‘soul destroying’ and other weird stuff but it sounds good. We’re going to kill the whole ‘shoes give you freedom’ clichéd crap pouring from other agencies (for Nike) or the ‘shoes make the man’ boredom (from Boss) or the ‘women love shoes’ idiom (from Sex and the City type stuff). Fred’s got a pair of the things on the table and they look okay, kind of like half-sneaker half-dress shoe type of things like you can wear them with a suit or at least good dress pants like these rappers do, rappers ha! more like fucking millionaires trying to ‘keep it real’ by wearing these things with suits, okay, so you’ve got the picture. They’re, what, like three hundred retail. Okay so we’ve got like six boxes of them and they’re all pretty much the same: leather, laces, clan lines, fine sticking, not too much stupid swirls and crap, kind of low key and shined up, like a good leather jacket but a shoe.
“Okay so it’s like don’t take shit”
“Shit. What shit?”
“Like the whole shoes in a club, shoes in a fuck-off restaurant stuff”
“Okay”
“Okay so, like, fuck the convention, wear these”
“Yeah okay…what’s the hook?”
“Who makes these anyway?”
“Ah it’s some Paris Hilton type brand…they cal themselves Billionaire’s club…it’s Pharell. From The Neptunes”
“Yeah yeah, they’re the guys that have basically remade Justin Timberlake and Brittney and co.”
“And who are we selling to?”
“Fucking hell Tom do your research. It’s basically for fucking trend-heads who have no money but are BURSTING to piss away their McDonald earned cash for these ultra cool shoes, right? So they can dance like mother fuckers and get laid while looking all ‘I don’t give a fuck’ shabby. Got it?”
“Yeah yeah I know…Christ I was up until like three or some shit…give me a sec guys”
“Yeah right and that smack to the face isn’t helping”
“Shut the fuck up Fred…this…this is something else”
“Been spending too much time in the basement huh? You’re gonna get AIDS at this rate”
“Yeah those girls have AIDs, like they don’t check that shit”
“Ha yeah, you’re right. Anyway fuck, we’ve got like three hors to nail this all right? They’re here this afternoon”
“Are we taking them for drinks? What girls are we getting? Not Stacey again because she is a fucking annoying lightweight. Almost cost us the Christal account”
“Um not Stacey…she’s fired Sash”
“Makes sense”
“Of course we’re taking them for drinks!”
“Yeah I mean we just need a basic outline, some shit they’re going to think is like ‘whoa'”
“Okay so…back o the basics…what do these rich kids want, huh? Sales…but…why the idiot no-money-hip-hop-douchebags? Can we, I don’t know, get the cashed up white folk buying these?”
“Yeah right like ‘be as cool as an African American’! So what, we need some big asses or what?”
“Yeah, we need hip-hop beats, oiled up asses and just at the end the shoes. Fuck it, that’s easy”
“Christ, too easy. Keep thinking”
“No wait, how we gonna pitch with Tom all banged up wearing his sister’s make up?”
“Fuck off Johnno”
“No seriously Tom…what the fuck were you thinking?”
“I got carried away you know….you know what it’s like”
“Um yeah I do, but I don’t get them to hit me in the fucking face! Ah fuck it whatever, it’s done. You can just make the mock ups and go home to get your shit sorted”
“Okay okay…lets just get something up on the cards”
“I’ve got it! Dominatrix. Tom, rub that makeup off your face. Johnno, all that weird stuff you were saying about ‘crushing’. Here it is; hot chicks, leathered up, I mean make up, hair, all that. Wailing on guy’s with these shoes on…like fucking loving it, right, like, sexy cool, like, fuck you I can do what the fuck I want. But before that it’s all suits and style and all that Jay-Z classy stuff, but like in the end their like getting whipped and fucking these hot dominatrix bitches, right?”
“Sash you are a fucking genius”
“Yeah yeah and Tom is all like, ‘I get it, I love it'”
“Fuck off”
“No seriously, you can be presenting this shit with your whole bruised face thing wearing the shoes, I mean, you’re not an ugly fuck, hell, you’re probably the best looking guy here. We need to get you a better suit…call Katy”
We celebrate, Tom makes the cards, Johnno on the phone again and me and Fred finishing some scotch telling each other we need to make sure they buy better stuff next time. Johnny Walker black label, what the hell is that crap? It’s only eleven and we have to wait two hours for lunch.
* * *
We get back from lunch and Rick is in James’ office, throwing his arms around like he does, got James smiling his wide smile, getting his cock sucked always makes him look like that. Fucking little ass crawling shitbag…last ad he did was for a magazine, some up-herself stick figure blonde chick dressed like a god awful princess gracefully receiving a diamond ring from some homosexual male model, yeah right, fucking beautiful. Did we keep the account? Yes we did. How did we keep that account? Because James the moron promised them a BIG TV AD…and who’s doing the ad? Not fucking us I can tell you that. Now Rick is all shit scared and trying to get in with us. Yeah keep buying us drinks, yeah send us your pathetic emails. Get ready to burn in hell you little piece of shit. Good luck affording your new apartment and suits. Fucking hotheads, you know, they land one job and start spending all their cash like it’s gonna last forever. Doesn’t matter how long you been doing this, you fuck up, you lose the client’s money, and you can kiss your life goodbye. I mean it. You mess up with half a mil of someone else‘s money, just try and get a job in this country again.
“Ricks in with James gain”
“That little shitbag”
“Tell me about it”
“Got his fucking tongue right up his ass huh?”
“You know it”
“Got a taste for ass that little ugly cunt”
“Ah fuck him, he’s out of here in one month, tops”
“Not the way he gets that cock down his throat he won’t be”
“Forget that shitbag, lets go over the pitch”
“Fuck the pitch lets go downstairs”
“Henry’s?”
“No dumbass, downstairs”
“Why not? We got a couple-a-hours”
“I’m in”
“All right lets go…grab some bottles Tom”
And we’re leave that mess behind, got it all down anyway: Shoes + Bondage = Sex Sells. How hard is that? Those rap douches are going to go ape shit for it. We’ll tell them about oiled up shaved muscled black guy chests, gold chains, sexy big assed chicks, whips and leather and crap and BANG their shoes in the frame, all fresh and edgy. They’ll be hard as rocks when we’re done…bus ads, billboards, magazines, TV, music videos, soft-core porn micro sites, everything. Sign up for some barely covered tits spanking some other barely covered tits. Cut to Shoes. Done. We get in the lift and press the big red ‘B’.
There’s only one spotlight on, hard to see if there’s anyone here today. The chains and cuffs are open and I can maybe make out a bucket. Tom turns the lights on and there’s two girls over in the corner sort of half sitting on each other, some light sheer nighties on and pink fluffy slippers. It’s not cold in here, it’s maybe like 30 degrees, they look scared.
“What the fuck did you do last night Tom?”
“Nothing…I mean, this one chick, this one chick, she…she fucking…like hit me so, like…you know…”
“Oh not again…you’re a sick bastard you know! Now we gotta go over there and be all nice and shit. Fuck you’re a moron. Luckily you can do mock ups like no one’s business. Urgh, get the keys”
Tom gets the keys off the wall, one of the girls get up, yelling something and we tell her to shut up we’re coming in and she’s struggling against the ankle chain like some dog and it’s pathetic really and she’s saying we’re all pigs and Fred’s laughing and Johnno is already talking his clothes off. Tom opens the cage and we go in, the other girl is just sitting there all quiet and the other one is standing there, nice tits, firm and pointy. She must be like, twenty, maybe twenty one, jesus the assholes upstairs know how to keep us going that’s for sure. Johnno walks over to her and pulls her hair back, she tries to kick him but he’s not weak and just moves her back and turns her around, pushing her against the wall and playing with her ass, she’s trying to push back but he’s got his other hand on her wrist and he’s twisting her arm hard against her back and pushing her face into the cement. He’s got her nightie up and is pushing his fingers into her holes hard and dry and she’s crying out and he asks for a gag. There’s a rag on the floor which I give to him and he wraps it around her mouth and ties it so she can only sort of whimper and it’s better that way, still, her hands are all over the place so he takes her over to the rack and eventually get’s her hands cuffed in. The other one is watching us and it’s like she’s curious or waiting or something so I go over and sit next to her.
“You like this?” I ask and she doesn’t say anything, “Huh? You like watching her getting raped? Lets watch then”.
Tom comes over to me but I gesture for him to go away, he goes and sits on a bench and lights a cigarette, he had enough last night the pervert so he’ll wait his turn. Fred’s got a big dildo and he’s rubbing in between the girls legs, she trying to kick back but Johnno hits her in the ribs and she calms down. Fred spits onto the thing and shives it into her pussy but it’s not working so he takes it out, spits on his fingers and starts working her open that way. Johnno rips her nightie off and starts sucking on her nipples while Fred works the dildo into her pussy. She kind of struggles but the two guys are pretty much just doing whatever now and Fred’s got his face buried in her ass. The girl next to me is motionless, I open her legs and she doesn’t do anything, I start playing with her pussy and still nothing, it’s like, what the fuck is wrong with her or more likely, something really is wrong with her. Not very erection inspiring, or maybe that’s her game? I pull a blanket out and lay her down face first and start to take my pants off. The other guys are really going for it now I mean, Johnno’s slapping the hell out of her ass and Fred’s driving the thing in and out in and out and she’s got her head forward and trying to scream but it just sounds like a really soft cat meow or a howling dog or something and Johnno pushes Fred away and throws the dildo into a corner and starts really fucking her, I mean like really like he can’t possibly even enjoy it himself and he’s pulling her hair and spitting on her face and all kinds of shit and Fred joins Tom on the bench, pulls out a mini-scotch and smokes a cigarette. I’ve got two fingers in this girls ass and it’s tight and warm and smells like shit but it’s a sweet kind of thing, it does dawn on me ‘when did these girls last take a shower’ but it was probably this morning so they should be pretty clean and my fingers come out okay so not too bad and I keep working at her asshole with fingers and spit until it feels ready and my cock is hard. Johnno is done and he’s turned her around and her arms are crossed and her face is red and covered in loose hair and his spit and now he’s got his whole hands up there just ramming at her and her tits are jumping up and down so fast you can barely make them out and he gestures for someone to come over and Tom gets up and goes over and Johnno tells him to undo her cuffs and she falls onto the floor and then they’re just fucking whatever now, face, pussy, ass, and I can’t watch anymore because it’s so abstract, these two guys just moving about shoving their cocks here and there while this girl is like, like, a rubber doll of something. And I’m like up to my waist in this girls ass and she’s just making this ‘uh uh uh’ sound which is really tuning me on and hell even I start doing it, thrusting and saying ‘urgh’ like louder than her so it’s all so intense and she’s like a quiet lamb just taking it and I’m having actual nice thoughts about this one which is rare and I don’t like that any more so I put my hands around her throat to you know like stop the sound, just squeezing her neck and pulling her head up and she’s got her mouth and eyes shut tight now which feels good and I cum in her ass after about one more minute of this and I’m done. Johnno is done too and just like he always does it getting his suit back on, over by the sink with the mirror smoothing out his hair with water and watching himself smoke a cigarette. Almost a too cool but too crazy a thing that ritual. Tom the psycho is hitting her in the back of the head and calling her ‘slut’ ‘cunt’ ‘whore’ and all kinds of stuff, really taking it out on her. Poor guy, must be how we treat him, right? Comes down here, goes fucking ape shit. Terrible.
“How’re things Fred?”
“Yeah fine…not really into it today”
“Throw me a bottle huh?
He throws me a vodka and I throw it back, then he throws me a scotch.
“Fuck what the hell, they’re still giving us this shit. I got to talk to Katy.” I open the bottle and finish it one go, “hurry the fuck up Tom, jesus. We got a pitch in like half an hour!”
Tom’s banging away, got that look in his eye like he’ll never stop so we just leave him there and I throw a roll of toilet paper over to the girl I came inside.
“See you upstairs Tom…don’t be late…two thirty okay” and he kind of says okay but it’s like o-o-o-k-k-k type thing with breathing and now we’re done it’s just plain gross to see Tom like that.
* * *
The men’s room on our floor has these warm-wet-forest-fresh towels that I use to get her shit out form under my nails and the aroma is so refreshing it’s like ‘where am I?’ but the feeling is broken by the sound of some sicko pissing in a urinal like right into the water. It’s like ‘didn’t your parents or someone ever teach you not to do that?’. I mean seriously, what kind of unadjusted socially retarded peasant does that? Oh look, there’s some water I guess I’ll pee straight into it, like in the river back on the farm. Manners, right, like maybe someone else is in this cacophonous tiled room that’s a veritable echo chamber to expose all your basic bodily functions. If you need to be told this then you should be fired on the spot. We don’t want inconsiderate illogical dunces working for Slater and Slater. The cubicle door opens and it’s no surprise that Rick strolls out, a dullard’s grin on his face as he publically zips up his fly.
“Sasha, how’s things. Heard you got the Greigson’s account. Man you guys are the business”
“Sash”
“Huh?”
“Don’t call me Sasha ok? It’s Sash. In fact, don’t even fucking call me Sash. You’re gonna call me Mr Bernstein or your ass is going out the fucking window, okay?”
“Jesus take it easy. I’m on your team, okay? We gotta get this place up and running twenty first century style you know what I mean?”
He runs his hands under the tap, no soap, reaches for a hot towel,
“Hey. What the fuck are you doing slimeball?”
“What” he says, picking one up and rubbing it on his face and neck.
“You ever hear of hygiene?”
“Huh?”
I turn on the tap, press some foam soap into my hands and rub them together, looking at Rick like he’s an infant.
“See? Watch me now. This is the important stuff your alcoholic fuckhead of a father should have taught you”
“What did you say?”
“I said your fresh-out-of-jail unshaven loser of a father should have at least showed you how to wash your hands. What the fuck do they teach you where you’re from? How to steal car stereos that no ne wants anymore and sell them for a tenner?”
“Hey man…you’re out of line”
“Out of line, huh? I tell you what’s out of line…you fucking coming up to me and anyone from my team and even thinking for a second you are one of us. For a second. What kind of fucking degenerate university taught you that you know ANYTHING about what we do. You push out the most gut-sickening clichéd shit I’ve ever seen, get one account per year that takes a fucking truckload of cum drinking for you to keep. Maybe make what, a ten percent commission, and then try and fucking stand here next to me, rinse your fucking loser ass piss stained fingers under cold water and just think ‘hey, I’m going to talk to Sash…even though I am a turd and he is a FUCKING PARTNER!’ Any of this making sense to you?”
“Calm down man, I’m just…”
“Shhh. I’m done. Okay?”
My heads buzzing, scotch and fucking and that got damn oily skinned bad suit asswipe just comes together and
“Hi Sash”
“Hi Stacey…how’s the mag going?”
“Good good, but hey, I wanted to ask you…”
“Not right now okay…I’m pitching in like five minutes so I’ve got to go get my face on”
“UH, okay Sash, but, I, I’m gonna come find you later”
“Sur Stacy, you come by and see me. We’re gonna go for a drink though okay”
And she says something but I’m not really listening and it’s amazing I even got those three lines out at all. They’re all in the office and Tom is making some more sketches, like the back up sketches because as soon as one of the idiot executives freaks out we just put those up and they calm down and we can push through what we want without them doing too much thinking. Legal. Consumer. Reaction. Blah blah heard it before, way ahead of you. Fred’s playing with his phone again, he’s getting screwed over some share deal so we understand but he’ll have to keep the crowd going in about ten minutes and Johnno is sitting back, smiles at me when I come in. I sit down and run my fingers through my hair, it’s weird right now, I’m more shaky than I usually am.
“You okay Sash?”
“Yeah. Are we ready? Let’s go”
