The Gloyz (after O. Henry) — by A. Molitor
Short story by A. Molitor The loneliest place in America is the bar at the right sort of hotel on the wrong sort of night. A dim and echoing expanse furnished from Ikea’s secret catalog of dark fur…
The slightly grimy, cynical tone is very well done, really made me feel like a soulless suit.
I wonder how much M&As still hinge on demos working at this point, isn't it an open secret that every startup is run by hustlers?
actually, this is lampshaded directly here:
seemed slightly surprised that _______ would be acquiring a genuinely pretty valuable company.
and nobody describes that sort of hotel bar so well without too much time in them
This is a work of fiction that Andrew just made up on holiday, but we are quite sure a dozen completely separate startup bros will be outraged that he lightly reskinned their life story