Olympian

Jacob was feeling good, and why shouldn’t he? His law firm had the best month that he could remember, his daughter was in a good school, making good grades, his son just got a promotion at the law firm, and his wife was at that bitch of a stepmom’s and, for the next week all he was going to do was get fucked up and party with stripers. He was damn happy he stepped out on a limb and got the condo in the city. Of course the wife had complained at first, but after reminding her who brought home the bacon, (and lots of it) and making the case that being closer to the firm would allow him to be more productive, she finally saw it his way. Of course the diamond tennis bracelet didn’t hurt either.

After a night of cocaine and other vices, Jacob always found it helpful to eat a few Hydrocodones to take the edge off the come down. As he was driving home he could feel the warm sensation starting to wash over him, each wave a little more pleasant. “Yes”, he thought, "it had been a good night, and sleep will come thankfully soon".

Any nagging residue of guilt for the things he had done would be fixed by the drugs and the fun he would have tomorrow. "Besides", Jacob mused, "everybody had fun, no one got hurt, the girls and the drug dealers made a few bucks, nad I got what I needed, and I deserve it. Capitalism at it’s best, and lord knows it’s been good to me".

He settled into the plush leather of his Porsche. The best thing about having a Porsche is knowing how the little people looked at him when they saw what he was driving, and how the word spread throughout the club what he was driving. Strangely enough, he always tended to get more attention from the girls when he drove the Porsche. As well he should. He had done this for himself, he made it. He made it because he was smarter, harder working, and more cunning than the rest. "That’s justice", he thought. The only justice that’s worth the name, the people who have things are the people who work hard, and the people who have the guts and the capability and brains and the upbringing to make it. That’s a man’s job, to provide, to make it, and men are rightly ranked by how well they do in this respect.

For people like us, the millionaires, perhaps we more than men in a weird way. Jacob liked this thought. Everyone needed people to look up to, to emulate, and the little people have guys like us, guys who could push their way to the top while they stalled at the bottom. He laughed out loud at the perfect sense it all made. Without us, their betters, they would be more inclined to be skeptical, and skepticism is the mark of a sick society. People need their royalty, there betters. We show that you can make it in America. And, it gives them a sense of place to be ranked below us. It’s a good system.

Walking up to his apartment he was startled by a voice from behind, “Excuse me sir”.
He spun around. Standing a few feet from him was an old man in torn rags, with a long dreaded beard. “excuse me sir, I’m sorry to startle you, I’m a traveler and I don’t know anyone in this town, I’m looking for a warm bed and perhaps a meal. I’m an old man and I’ve traveled a long way, and still have far to go.”

Jacob was stunned. His brain clattered, "How the hell did this trash get in the gate! Where the hell did he come from, he just came out of nowhere! Probably because he has lots of experience sneaking up on people, he looks like some kind of dirty pervert. Needs money I’m sure. What a looser. How can people let them selves sink so low. I guess that's justice too".

Jacob was stunned at the call of the bum, “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are but you must be fucking crazy if you think anyone in their right mind is going to let you in their house. Most of you guys just ask for money, but you have some balls.” He started to reach into his pocket.

The bearded man responded, “I’m sorry to have offended you sir, it’s just that where I’m from travelers are offered hospitality, it’s the law, I thought it was universal."

Jacob laughed “The law, ha, you must be from Cuba or Uzbekistan or something. I don’t care what you barbarian communists do, in America everyone rows his own boat, that’s fairness, no one rows it for you and you are not asked to row anyone else’s, that’s justice, but since I’m in a good mood all I’ll over you a few bucks, even though I know it's wrong, or more exactly, unjust.

The old man raised his hand “I’m sorry sir, please keep your money, I wanted hospitality,not money, travelers should always be offered hospitality, as long as they don’t take advantage. You have queer ideas of justice . You know, where I’m from, to break the law of hospitality is a terrible offense, punishable by strict retribution.

Something had blown in Jacobs eye, and he was getting sleepy, the Hydrocodone was working it’s magic. He was rubbing his eyes and yawned, “listen old man, my eye burns and I’m very tired, I tried to give you a few bucks and that’s all I can do, so spare me your silly lecture and get the hell out of here before I call the police.”

Jacob turned to go. He had a hard time negotiating the elevator to his condo because his eye was burning a little. When he got upstairs he washed his face with warm water and felt immediately better. The wine and hydrocodone were working fine. He walked to the balcony for one last smoke. He didn’t realize how early it was. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon. “Good god” he thought, “I’ve been at it all night, like I was 18.” The sun was spilling red over the city. Jacob couldn’t remember the last time he had seen such a red sun rise. He went to bed, and dreamed he eye was being ripped from his skull.