The Elixer

Alan walked out into the sunshine and wondered why the clouds weren’t gray. Office-goers strode out like little ant people onto the pavement. The monolithic corporate behemoth loomed over him for the last time. So he was no longer a Junior Trainee Business Analyst. Oh well, things could be worse. Not by much, but they could. He had a tiny sum stored away from his tuition work at college. It was ironic that his part-time job in college had paid more than his first job out of it. He smacked his head. His rent was due. Where was a silver lining when he needed one? He trudged over to the park bench and heaved a huge sigh, his head heavy in his arms. Fuck my life.

“Everythin’ alright, boy? You ain look so good.”

It was Bo the homeless guy. Maybe, it was the fact that Alan was on the verge of a breakdown or that his friends had conveniently seemed to forget his very existence the day the news of his termination broke, but Alan saw the kindness behind the rough exterior. He spent the next half hour describing his failures, his fears and his dreams.

“Sample?” Bo said at the end of his droning monologue, offering him an amber colored liquid in an old plastic bottle.

He shook his head.

“Cmon, everybody loves a sample,” he said good-naturedly, flashing a near toothless grin, punching his shoulder. “No? Suit yourself.”

He took a long swig and a few trickles were lost in his wild, wiry beard.

“I made it merself.” He leaned forward and whispered with a wink. “I’m a bit of a chemist, see?”

“Not everyone understands the finer nuances of economics. You ain’t owe no one nothin’.” He lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke his way.

“Debt isn’t real. Money, isn’t real. Uncle Sam farts and voila, more dollar bills but lemme tell you… You know what we get when the stench clears, boy?” He inhaled deeply and spread his arms. “Freedom.”

Alan felt small hearing words of a wisdom from a man he wouldn’t have approached a day ago.

“You understan’ me, Aldric?”

“Alan.” he corrected.

He waved it away. “You’ve escaped the system. You ain’t no pansy breakin’ your back while the bankers and the feds drive them shiny cars without having to do a hard man’s labor. 18 trillion dollars of our hard-earned currency. The bastards!”

The words were music to Alan’s ears. He wasn’t a failure. He had just unknowingly outfoxed the system. He was no longer a slave bound by their rules. It was his game now.

“You know what?” he said. “You’re absolutely right. My whole life, I’ve followed the rules. And look where it’s got me.” He raised his arms and hollered. “From today Alan Schwarbunkle is a free man!” He reached for the bottle and took a large gulp. The liquid burned in his chest.

Bo, roared his approval. “Well, alrighty then!”

Three quick shots ensued. “Wow, it feels good to live life on the edge. I feel a rush.”

“That ain’t adrenaline, boy. That’s Bo’s good ol’ Elixir of Life.” He flashed a grin, his gold tooth shining bright holding up the crinkled plastic like a trophy. “You see, Aldric,” he said, fingers tapping on the bottle. “I got myself a fine product here.” His voice dropped to a low growl. “And you, my fine friend, have something you can offer me.”

Alan looked over knowingly at the imposing building that stood behind them. His lip curled to a smile. “Business acumen.”

His eyebrows furrowed and he slammed his hand against the park bench. “Sure, boy. But more importantly, investment.”

Alan’s eyebrows furrowed. With last week’s paycheck, his bank account had roughly two thousand dollars. Hardly enough to qualify as an angel investor.

It didn’t deter Bo. He was a star. A master tactician. Turns out Bo had left the business world at its apex back in the 80s and settled down for a nice quiet life, distributing his fortune among charities.

“Always give back, son,” he said wagging a finger. “Always.”

He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the nitty-gritty of his plan to make ‘The Elixir’ a phenomenon.

“Two big ones in the hands of an ordinary chump?” he said with a smirk. “Might as well throw it down a drain.”

“Now you see here, Aldric¬ ¬–”

“Alan.”

“This here?” He motioned towards the green grass, the water sprinklers and the pudgy, little man pushing a hotdog stall wiping the sweat from his brow. “Mecca.” He stretched, letting out a large yawn before lying on the bench, staring at the clouds. “Tell you what, I ain’t got much time, but if you can whip up the 2 large ones soon, I can triple it for you by nightfall tomorrow.”

Alan thanked the heavens for ATM kiosks.

Bo shook his hand firmly as they parted ways. “See you soon, partner.”

Alan Schwarbunkle didn’t walk home that day. He strut. Sure, his landlady didn’t appreciate his new found swagger. It was as Bo had said. People were short-sighted. But the indignity of it all. And so he packed his belongings, with a smile on his face and walked out the door, straight to Larry’s tavern on West Side. He had outgrown his dump of an apartment anyway. He laughed as he thought of Fat Charlie’s expression when he came home and found he had moved on. He was a good mate. But not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

“The next round’s on me!” he said at the bar. Oh, how light he felt.

“Hey man, that’s a pretty big tab. You sure?”

Alan smiled more easily than he ever had in years. “Definitely.”

The next day Alan, waited by the park bench, rucksack in hand. He glanced at his watch. 5:15 Bo had said. He was still waiting when the sun sunk over the horizon.