The Jinro Chamisul toad smiles with Buddha-like mellowness and you decide to get a tattoo of the guy. The soju is so cold it is meltwater. Distant memories of mineral-rich Tasman terminal lake sit up front and you focus on the peacefulness of ice pulverising rock.
Hulking capitalist machines stomp well-worn paths of destruction but you were supposed to cut a new trail of inclusion and diversity, environmental and social governance. The bedrock of status quo has been reinforced with corporate jargon and a refreshed strategy for growth. You wave the flags of mental wellness and te ao Māori but the jumbotron of marketing collateral just slaps to the Vice-President-Managing-Director’s ear for buzz. The kids say “slaps” these days like how you used to say “sounds awesome”.
[Author’s Note] Everyone has their camera off except me and the harsh low sun outside turns me into a chiaroscuro of elder-millenial life. Mark came home from the gym and made a protein shake.
You look at the time constantly like you are getting ready for something important but there isn’t anything coming up except another Zoom meeting. Yesterday you Zoomed Friday drinks to at-home colleagues and it seemed perfectly reasonable. You’ve become so comfortable with cameras, well done.
The soju cap always leaves a curl of aluminium at the neck after opening. The satisfying sound of perforated metal popping and tearing but if you don’t pay attention you will definitely cut your finger. The Jinro Chamisul toad smiles serenely at the idea.
[Author’s Note] I turn my camera off to roll a spliff. I turn it on again as if nothing happened.