Six Weeks - a conversation

George and Raymond sat in their usual spot in Mizner Plaza - the outdoor tables of GiGi's of Boca Raton and talked about the day's business.  Raymond was the brains and George was the brawn that collectively made up the management team of Navarco, a boutique consulting firm that had dreams of playing in the big leagues of the financial world.  Or, at least that was George's dream.  Raymond owned the company and had already made a few bucks.  He was just seeking to hold on to them and make them multiply a few hundred times.

"Ray, if we just get NetMusic the cash it needs to close the deal with Morphus, we'll all be rich and I'll be calling you from my house in Tuscany," continued George.  They had been talking about a project that the two of them had started a few years back and turned over to a crack team of dead-beats and Navarco ATM subscribers - that's what Raymond called them; companies that thought of Navarco as an ATM machine but never produced anything.

Neither of them were willing to give up on the idea of their dream of building good company.  Nor were they willing to accept, openly at any rate, that it was already dead.  It was, they just didn't know it.

"I know, buddy," concurred Raymond, "Its just that the Morphus deal sounds too fishy.  They can't even produce a legitimate contract that proves . . ."

"Fifteen million a piece doesn't sound fishy to me," said George.  "Bite me Skippy.  With that kind of money, I'm out'a here and practicing on my future phrase.  Come on, you know it.  I told you before.  When I have enough to not worry about anything, the only thing I want to worry about is being able to say . . ."

"I know.  Fuel up the jet," mimed Raymond.

"Yep!," smiled George, rather proud of himself and the millions he'd just spent but hadn't made.

"Buddy, I want you to have that jet and everything.  Its just that I keep thinking that we're tossing good money after bad and don't know it yet.  Its like we want to believe its gonna happen so we don't let it die," offered Raymond.

George was busy chatting with someone who came by to shake hands with the "Mayor" of Mizner Plaza, or he was busy with someone who needed a favor by way of asking George to ask this friend about another friend about the thing with the other friend on Friday next week.  But it didn't matter as Raymond knew that George could multitask.

After George said his whatever to whomever he asked, "What's up buddy?  You seem out of it.  How's everything  Are you OK?  Talk to me."

"Yeah, I'm OK.  I'm just thinking about business and this deal."

"Come on Ray.  I've known you what, ten years?  What's going on?," pressed George.

"Dude, I'm fine. Really," said Raymond.

"OK.  But if you ever need to talk . . ."

"I know."

"I worry about you buddy.  You know you're my best friend," George explained.

"I know. I know."

While writing this, I played: I Cried For You from the album "Piece By Piece" by Katie Melua.