As we walked, Hank asked me about my life in the city, and I obliged. It was strange, for what I talked about seemed at once so distant and so meaningless that part of me felt embarrassed. I thought about, but didn’t go into the darker aspects: going to the bars, one-night stands. But I did tell of getting drunk at parties with people only half of whom I liked. And my work. It paid well and I was good at it, but talking about it here, with him, it sounded just like paper-pushing, grinding out material for a vast, pointless machinery of business.
I spoke of my apartment, taking the subway downtown to work each day, eating a quick lunch in a park surrounded by office towers, returning to work in my cubicle afterwards. At his request I explained something what it was I did, so I told him basically what an investor did. And, even though I enjoyed the challenge of my work, listening to my description now made it seem venal and very shallow.