When Eddie brought us together in the morning to say it was all over, Anthony was the one who cried. That douchebag never made goal. What was there for him to cry about? Sam went and sat in her car. Mike walked back to Service with those guys and I'm sure he busted out his flask. Mike knew things in mysterious ways. He probably had it full the night before. The news, and the flask.
Me, I went to that coffee machine. That great big German fucker that I had to plug kiddie arcade tokens into, to get my customers a cup. Maybe it tastes better. But you never hand anyone effort, a tiny piece of yourself. There's nothing to apologize for when the coffee is perfect every time. Nothing but the cars. Who wants to apologize for those and then close a sale? Not me. Not like we were closing sales this year, anyway.
So I made a magical awful cup of coffee appear by pushing a button, and I took it outside. It was beautiful, the parking lot. Our giant American flag rattled the pole, and it snapped against the fat fall clouds.