8/26/22 — Good ’til the Last Drop

“End of an era!”

“End of an era.”

Nigel and Reece clinked their rocks glasses and each took a big gulp of bourbon. The good stuff. They joked it was almost as old as the oil that made their fortune, and almost as sweet.

“You seem down, old friend. Do you regret it?” Nigel asked Reece?

“No. No. If it weren’t us, someone would have done it, and they would have had all the fun.”

“All the money,” Nigel said.

“All the women,” Reece sighed.

“And men,” They both said at the same time, and chuckled. “Jinx!” said Reece.

Nigel poured the rest of the bottle into Reece’s cup. No sense saving it now. This was the last special occasion.

“No water to make Coke, so please accept this 172 year old bourbon in lieu.”

“God, remember Coke?”

“Which one?” Nigel asked, chuckling. “Haven’t seen either in at least a decade.”

They sat in silence a while, each surely thinking of the good times, for it made no sense to dwell on the bad. Not now. The balcony of their 175th floor office afforded them a magnificent view of Manhattan, Long Island, and the Atlantic Ocean. Not that the island, any island, really, was recognizable anymore. But they remembered. When the waves lapped against the Rockaways and the dolphins could be seen frolicking offshore. Before the oxygen was sucked out by the algae blooms. Before they had ruthlessly gained a monopoly on all the world’s fossil fuel supply and extracted every last drop while using their profits to, legally and somewhat-less-so, close off all alternatives.

“Together?” Reece asked, holding up a laptop.

“No, please, you do the honors,” his old friend replied. And with that, Reece pressed the button that turned off all the lights across the world, for there was nobody left to pay the power bills.

They watched the grid shut down up and down the eastern seaboard — another luxury afforded them from their perch above all mankind.