Liquid Assets

The corporate wellness counselor handed me a vitamin D supplement with the same dead eyes she'd used to tell me my position was being eliminated. 'For the transition period,' she'd said, as if unemployment were a season you could weather with proper nutrition.

Now I sat at McAllister's, watching a droplet of water trace a path down the condensation-covered glass of whiskey I couldn't afford. The ice cubes were melting, time made visible and irreversible.

My iPhone buzzed—Mark again. I'd already ignored three calls. His last text had said we needed to talk, which was adult code for I've already talked to everyone else and you're last on the list. My hair still smelled like his shampoo this morning, coconut and betrayal.

The guy next to me looked like a bull built for slaughter—thick neck, eyes that had seen too much, hands that had done too little. He caught me staring.

'Corporate?' he asked, gesturing to my blazer.

'Laid off this morning. You?'

'Fired yesterday. Embezzlement.' He took a drink. 'Allegedly.'

I laughed. It felt rusty, unused. 'What did you actually do?'

'Took the fall for my boss. He promised me a severance package that never materialized.' He swirled his drink. 'Turns out loyalty is just leverage for people who can afford to be disloyal.'

My phone buzzed again. This time I looked. Mark: I slept with Sarah. I'm sorry.

The pills in my pocket felt heavy. The vitamin D, the irony not lost on me—supplements for a life that had lost its absorption capacity, its ability to process light.

'You want to get out of here?' the bull asked. 'I hear there's a job fair at the convention center. Or we could just rob a bank.'

I looked at my phone one last time, then powered it down. The screen went black, and for the first time all day, I could see my reflection clearly.

'I've got a better idea,' I said. 'Let's go somewhere that doesn't have Wi-Fi.'