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My brother Eddie called me the next morning to report his head hurt and his wallet was nowhere to be found. He already pinged the hotel but they didn’t have the wallet, or at least claimed they didn’t. Eddie said the woman at the front desk sounded like she was thumbing through his cash and cards even as they spoke, deciding what to toss and what to keep–he could wave goodbye to the emergency Quaalude he kept tucked in there–but how could he ever prove the dark duplicity at work, his small cry in the wilderness versus the obfuscations of a big bad multinational hotel chain? Despite all that he sounded relieved, like he had survived something monumental. “Turns out lots of the people from my class are bald, broke or dead,” he said. “And I’m only half of all those things.”
“You’re a glass half full kind of guy,” I said.
“That’s me,” he said. “Always looking on the bright side.”
