Shall I — UP! — compare thee, O most luminous Glenda — DOWN! — to a strudel of surpassing magnificence!

The grand ballroom shimmered — YES, YES, FORTISSIMO! — its chandeliers cascading light upon the finest guests, who stood in their finery with bronze tans and champagne flutes, nodding at one another with the serene vacancy of those who have never once questioned the strudel —

— and from the head of the room, from behind the longest and most mahogany of tables, the smirker — the BOSS — who had not slept, who could not sleep, who had not slept in what felt like the entire Gilded Age —

— the smirker who had feasted the previous evening at the grand kitchen of The Golden Arch, who had consumed, with the focused intensity of a man conducting a business meeting with charred beef, quantities of the finest and most golden-arched patties that the grand kitchen could produce, stacked and magnificent and arriving in waves, the smirker receiving each wave with the solemn authority of a man receiving tribute —

Her bronze tan — pianissimo now, softly, SOFTLY — radiant as the burnished façade of a Vanderbilt drawing room —

— and her finery — OH! her FINERY! — LEAP! —

— and somewhere in the ballroom, vast and green and trembling with barely contained enormity, stood the Hulk — pianissimo, gentlemen, carefully now — who had a worm, who had always had a worm, who would always have a worm, lodged with absolute tenure in the deepest and most gamma-irradiated folds of his brain, and the worm was conducting its own symphony entirely, and it bore no relationship whatsoever to the one happening in the room, and the Hulk did not know this, and the worm preferred it that way —

— and beside the Hulk, or rather in front of the Hulk, or rather wherever he could position himself to be seen, stood the suited warrior —

— a man in a suit of considerable and aggressive tailoring, the jacket bearing the scars of a thousand negotiations, the tie knotted with the resolute fury of a man who has principles, who has always had principles, whose primary and most loudly proclaimed principle was this —

he announced, to no one, to everyone, to the gold toilet

— which explained, with the clean and terrible logic of a man who means exactly what he says, why he was broke —

— completely, magnificently, historically broke —

— had been broke since the first quarter he declined to give, had remained broke through every subsequent quarter withheld, was so thoroughly broke that he had taken to gambling on the kingdom's wars, which was the only mechanism remaining by which a man of no quarters could finance his drink —

— and the drink was necessary — the drink was load-bearing —

— the suited warrior had wagered on the eastern campaign and lost, had wagered on the northern skirmish and won just enough to purchase three drinks and wager on the southern engagement and lost again, was currently awaiting the outcome of a border dispute about which he had extremely confident feelings and absolutely no money —

— he half-dreamed of Namath, staggering through some frontier town, the goldfish eyes enormous beneath a sheriff's star, firing the musket at a weather vane —

— he half-dreamed of the Hulk, green and worm-addled, conducting the symphony with both enormous fists, the worm occasionally seizing the baton —

— he half-dreamed of the suited warrior, penniless and magnificent, standing at the edge of a battlefield placing bets with an outstretched hand containing, conspicuously, no quarters —

— he half-dreamed of Glenda at the magnificent window, bronze tan luminous, the poodle at her heel, the strudel untouched —

— he half-dreamed of the gold toilet, which in the dream was also somehow a podium —

— and through all of it he sat at the head of the mahogany table, swollen with the magnificence of The Golden Arch, half-asleep and completely in charge, and opened his mouth —

!staob gnirehsif — MUIPO — !staob gnirehsif

the Bible. Upside down. Backwards. At full volume.

The fine guests straightened instinctively. One put down their champagne. Then picked it up again, because the boss had not indicated they should put it down, and one does not make assumptions about a swollen boss at 4am.

"ssenssenkrad eht fo htped eht morf — THE BOATS HOLD OPIUM, GLENDA — the cabinets cannot contain it — fo tuo em dloh—"

Namath wheeled upon him — the enormous, rotating — one hand on the musket, one hand steadying itself on a side table — the sheriff's badge glinting —

The Hulk looked up. The worm twitched.

said the Hulk, with unexpected constitutional clarity

The smirker smirked. Tautly. The suit held. One lapel was smoothed. The dream continued.

"!sniatnuom eht ot sfil eH — THE OPIUM BOATS, SIR —" eyes half-closed — "— they are coming and the cabinets will not stop them — nothing can stop them —"

He paused. Adjusted a lapel. The suit gave a millimeter. He did not acknowledge this.

Namath fired the musket into the ceiling. A chandelier crystal fell. He caught it. Regarded it with one vast . The suited warrior immediately attempted to wager it on the outcome of the border dispute.

Namath would not give it up.

The Hulk watched. The worm took notes.

A fine guest quietly placed their champagne flute on the gold toilet's cistern. No one mentioned it.

The boss mentioned nothing. The boss half-dreamed of mentioning it. The knowing and the smirking and the swelling and the half-dreaming were sufficient.

The fine guests finish their champagne and say nothing about the gold toilet and nothing about the sheriff and nothing about the boss and nothing about the Hulk and absolutely nothing about the worm, and nothing, especially nothing, about the suited warrior's pockets, because a man's empty pockets are his own business, and he gives no quarter on the matter.

Yet Glenda — softer now — she got it —

GLENDA

End of Chapter One · The Strudel Remains Unclaimed · IKEA Has Better Cabinets