I will be there when you die, your name burning hot on my tongue. I will be there when you rise again, my wrath leaving a paper trail down the aisles of your courtroom business. There will be telephones ringing. I will be answering them, diverting conferences and rescheduling contacts while you are gasping your phoenix breath over the scattered remains of the latest fling. It is bloody. You will eventually complain, when your lungs awaken, of the ruined PDA, the red-pocked faxes, and the waste of a perfectly reasonable high-back executive. But I will be justified, and you will know this. You always know, when that tingling starts at the base of your spine, when that new secretary lights up your eyes, when the casual lunch evolves into complicated dinners. That inevitability stares back at you during every shave. You will take these women and love them and sacrifice them in a graceful smile. Your teeth have always been perfect.
Jilted lovers! I don't even know.
Courtroom is supposed to describe the business in a way that implies wheeling-and-dealing, not anything law-related. Yeah...
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