Very Recent History: An Entirely Factual Account of a Year (C. AD 2009) in a Large City by Choire Sicha

began. A man showed up and took a seat at the edge of the picnic
     table where John and Chad were scheming. He had gotten a beer and now was reading
     an exceedingly obscure and storied intellectual journal. Some inexplicable sort of
     awkward moment happened that involved a recent arrival to the party: some boy who
     John had gone on one date with, who was now someone’s paramour, and both Chad and
     John were expecting some drama, some awkwardness.
    “And nothing cuts through awkward like John,” Chad said.
    “Like a hot knife through cheese!” John said.
    “Like a hot knife through roast beef,” Chad said. “Like a hot knife through Tyler
     Flowers.”
    “Hey, you want to see what a long-term strategy looks like?” John said, and then he
     got up and went to greet the recent arrival, who was just then talking to, yes, Tyler
     Flowers.
    So he hugged the guy, who had a bunch of money in his hands. The guy looked awkward.
     “Oh hey, how are you,” said the guy. Then John and the guy and Tyler Flowers were
     in a little conversational triangle.
    “He is wading into a situation that one would normally avoid at all costs and that
     is his audacity,” Chad said.
    Chad sat and watched this all going on like it was on TV.
    Then Matt, the sketch comic, came up and sidled into the triangle—right between John
     and Tyler.
    John was telling a story. “Look at him, he looks like Rumsfeld in those meetings,”
     said Chad.
    There was incredible body language going on. For instance, John’s body was ejecting
     the sketch comic from the group, by keeping a shoulder somewhat in front of the sketch
     comic and by turning directly toward Tyler.
    “He has to deal with three people while subtly destroying two of them,” Chad narrated.
    Tyler was clutching a beer. The sketch comic now had one leg bent, using the knee
     next to John to form a barrier between John and Tyler Flowers.
    John was talking, and the sketch comic was pressing his own pint glass viciously against
     his own face, in a strange and angry gesture. It was sharp-toothed animals in a tank.
     Then a fifth person entered the group, and polite introductions were made, and the
     tension evaporated and John saw that he was done. He rejoined Chad at the table.
    “Ya gotta give ’em a break!” he said. Then: “Smokesies!” he said, mocking Jason.
    Chad and John watched Tyler, apparently delighted by some new arrival. The sun had
     begun to set. Everyone had had more than a few. “You know what the problem is? He’s
     too easy,” John said, watching Tyler. “It’s like Russian roulette. He could go home
     with him or him or him. I’m rather disappointed.”
    There was a young guy in some sort of soccer shirt and white, white pants, very flash
     and sporty. “You know who that guy is? A coin dealer,” Chad said. “He just bought
     three million—in coins! He’s like the owner of John’s company, an ‘independent real
     estate operator.’ All on his own!” He said that sarcastically, meaning the opposite.
     At this time, the number-one predictor of future wealth was current wealth and, therefore,
     inherited wealth.
    It was by now eight thirty p.m. The twenty-year-old NYU student that Fred was sleeping
     with showed up. Trevor was redheaded and pimply and dressed in what could only be
     described as a costume. Little tiny shorts and boots and a gray shirt with black pocket
     linings and sleeves and collar. He looked ridiculous yet brave.
    “Only four and a half hours late,” John said.
    The kid came up and sort of mumbled at Chad, who was aggressively, rudely polite to
     him, and the kid mumbled something unintelligible, and then picked up a chair from
     the table and carried it over to where Fred was sitting.
    It was now fully dark. Over by Chad, Matt the sketch comic was down on the ground,
     putting himself in the yoga posture called “side crow,” balancing on both hands, elbows
     bent ninety degrees, his face toward the ground, his knees