Maxine Porter Art Consultants LLC is a three-story building that is located in the Upper West Side not so far away from my penthouse. It had been an ordinary office building once before my mother bought it out and completely remodelled it inside and out. Nowadays you can see the architectural structure that is performed in the spirits of modernism: the outer surface is entirely glassed, there is the predominance of jagged lines and drastic angles, any ornament or mouldings are absent and the roof is flat. I attended some architecture classes back in Yale, modernist architecture has always been my favourite movement. That is why I am completely in love with my homeland, Chicago, the greatest city of Modernist style. I would come there for a weekend to visit my father and spend my whole time travelling about the streets with my mouth open. And never mind that I’ve seen the entire city for, like, a million times before.

Several minutes after leaving that cute girl Tina on her own serving people and missing me already (I bet) I maneuver into my usual parking place and turn off the engine. Pulling back my Ray-Bans so they rest on the top of my head, I look into the visor mirror. My eyes are still somewhat red from my last night escapades. I grab the purse from the backseat and rummage there for a small bottle of liquid. Having gotten the medicine out of the purse, I throw my head back and proceed to drip a couple of drops into each eye, which is followed by a few seconds of rapid blinking. When I’m finally able to see clearly, I look down at the bottle and furrow my brows. The remains of it are so little that it makes me question myself whether I’ve been using eye drops far too much lately. Considering the frequency of my unrestrained merrymaking, there is no wonder. The thought unsettles me, but not for long. At least there is no redness anymore, I conclude as I smile at my reflexion in the mirror. I then toss a peppermint candy into my mouth and exit the car, grinning and simply ready to set the world on fire.

I enter the building and stroll toward the elevator, greeting some of my co-workers in the process. Everyone seems to be up to their neck in work, running round like blue arsed flies and spreading anxiety into the air. Don’t they know that stress is a silent killer? They should look at me and calm the hell down. Resistance to stress is a recipe for success.