Silver Tongued Investor
Upon the ledge of an old ongoing Steakhouse, Mr. Cotchery finds a way to make an ass out of himself every Saturday night. The investor loves to see a packed house at his location on a Saturday night, he makes his rounds of all his investments but saves this location for last. The investor is in the prime of his career, the feeling of invincibility has yet to be worn off. It’s not even about going from rags to riches, the silver tongued investor understands that it’s only down from here and it’s been like that since the head of the table left behind his savings. The Lincoln log ranch on top of the Jenga tower will tip over at some point, the riches will be wiped away with rags. More energy than a truck driver, Mr. Cotchery must have been hitting the flying headbutt to the pitcher’s rosin bag. Mahogany wood all over the place in the interior of the establishment, polished down so you can see the sizzling steam in the reflection of the wood. The mahogany has been set there since before the investor was born, the maintenance of the remains overtakes the thoughts of replacements and the thoughts of replacements vanish because he coincidently likes the color. The steakhouse being his bottom bitch, everything in his daily life has to be mahogany like an Florida State University alumni. From the polished derbies to the heavy bag in his room and the rug on the floor, believe you me that it has to be mahogany. The invincible feeling has yet to be worn off on this Saturday night with a packed house. It seems like the loyal customers would never leave, their skeletons are glued to the seats. Some of them are pasted down from the previous generation, it’s a legacy thing. Walking around asking the customers is everything great like he is the manager of this place, the manager of this place hates the financer of this place on these type of nights. The quality and portions can go down but breaking a routine takes dedication. The silver tongued investor never went a day where his sides were bigger than his steak and here he is, explaining inflation to the investigators. The sauce is stocked in the local grocery stores, scraping from the bottom of pans is never gone to waste. It’s all putty in the hands for an owner of an old steakhouse when the wedge salad has a majority say in sales. The bartender knows to set aside a drink at the bar section when the chatter gets louder in the kitchen due to the investor coming in from the backdoor, if there was a rafter to come down from like Sting in WCW then he would. After making his rounds, he takes his cherry whiskey sour outdoors. Takes a sip then fits the glass in the pocket where the pocket square should be. Climbs up the ledge of the building, two stories without any help and it was near the sign. Taking it all in on his own time, on his own dime. The cherry gets eaten up there, the cunt would sometimes leave the glass cup up there. People walking in to meet their reservation, bringing up the potential jumper upon the ledge to the host. The host just brushes it off by saying the Dark Knight returns and that he’ll handle it. Stepping out the podium to give the usual Mr. Cotchery yelling, “Get Down From There you sugar sipper!” The investor could test the luck that was handled to him all his life, jump down the second stories with his unathletic body and see if he feels something for once. The brown sour cherry juice says maybe but the car in the lot is waiting. An investor knows when to jump ship but besides throwing money at things, when will he be a significant part of a legacy. When business goes down, Mr. Cotchery will jump down and his bones will be brittle by then.