He dropped some cash into the beggars’ cup and hurried into
He saw the same beggar sitting cross-legged in front of the
He held a sign that read: “Dying from AIDS. Please help me.”
Bonwit dropped some cash into his cup and hurried onto
The N-Judah to Ocean Beach arrived; Bonwit was desperate
to take it.
He wanted to run from the Financial District and its beggars who follow him everywhere, who sit in front of the Pyramid and glare at him: as if he is the one who stripped them of everything and left them to starve.
“They glare at me.,” Bonwit muttered to himself. “Not my secretary; not
old man Lazaro.”
Lazaro’s face formed in his mind; boyish yet old; kind yet cruel.
Bonwit spat on that face and remembered his rage at last night’s dinner.
Lazaro compared Bonwit to a General in a noble army.
“That’s what you are.” Lazaro said. “And the sales force is your troops. They depend on you for supplies and protection. Think of our company as a complex system of privileges and obligations. Your people need you Bonwit.”
“I’m just a fucking travel agent and you’re just an old queen!” Bonwit drunkenly snarled.