Chapter 1
Danny is buying a twelve-dollar coffee when his dad calls.
He didn’t realize the coffee would be twelve dollars when he ordered it, but the ice cost extra, as did the oat milk, as did the caramel foam (yes), and then Danny left a two-dollar tip because he worked in a café in high school and now will spend the rest of his life trying to make empathetic eye contact with every barista he ever meets.
His dad, Cal, is a man who believes in instant coffee from a Costco tub. It’s all very embarrassing.
“Hey,” Danny says, stepping to the side by the straws and stir sticks. “Everything okay?”
“Why do you always ask that? You worry too much.”
“Sure,” Danny says. “But is everything? Okay?”
“Oh, just fine. But my life is boring. How’re things with you?”
“Dad, you called me.”
“Can’t I say hi to my favorite son?”
The barista announces that there is a large iced oat latte with salted caramel foam for Danny.
“Wowzers,” Cal says. “Fancy.”
Danny takes the drink and ducks out onto the street. Commuters are bustling their way home, but it’s still bright out; after the cavern of winter, the spring days just go and go.
“Yeah,” Danny says. “Well, I was falling asleep at my desk, and I have a dinner tonight.”
“Like a date?”
Danny hesitates. “Yeah. Like a date.”
“With?”
“The app matched us.”
“Gonna take her somewhere fancy?”
“A taco truck, I think.”
“Well, you just remember, it’s polite to pay. You can be a feminist and still pay.”
“Okay,” Danny says. “Good tip. Hey, I should probably let you go.”
“Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt your day.”
“It’s fine, Dad, I just need to get on the subway now.”
“Yes, sorry, I know you’re so busy!”
Danny takes a deep breath. “I love you. Talk to you later.”
In the crowded car, Danny finds himself standing beside a mother-son duo who are both wearing those Balenciaga shoes that look like wet suit booties.
They cost $900; Danny knows this off the top of his head, though he has never had the faintest inclination to purchase them (because they look like wet suit booties).
On the seats, there are two elderly gentlemen looking at their phones.
One is a new iPhone, $1300; the other is a foldable Samsung, $1500.
Leaning against the door with nary a care in the world is a man dipping his Pringles in Trader Joe’s hummus.
This is an unhinged snack. Danny stares at the man for a long moment, wondering about the logistics; Trader Joe’s surely does not sell Pringles, so the man must have made two stops.
Also, there is no way a Pringle has the structural integrity to hold hummus.
Danny does not usually move away from people on the subway, but this man seems unsafe.
Pringles: $3. Trader Joe’s hummus: $4. The ad running along the top of the subway car encourages passengers to take control of their finances and start investing in crypto now.
Danny’s phone buzzes and it is an email from Chase saying his automated credit card payment has gone through.
He gets a text from his gym saying his monthly membership has been automatically renewed.
He gets a notification from the Sweetgreen app saying he has been rewarded with a discount for spending so fucking much on salad this month here in the financial capital of the world.