The parties faded away and the regular work world took over. In a way it's a relief that I don't work there anymore. The use of drugs in the office was banned. Pseudo spent a lot of money covering the political conventions in a grandstanding ploy to find new investors. Few tuned in.
Cable does it better.
By the end, Mr. Fine was doing a whole lot of nothing. He was smart enough, however, to put a few thousand dollars in the bank. His savings plus his unemployment checks allow him to make rent, drink in the afternoons and wander the streets of Manhattan with his hands in his pockets mulling over his prospects. Now I'm crawling back to the corporate dog bowl. A woman with two-tone hair walks into the bar.