Kingdom of Failure

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I was at my first job in Detroit and I was doing well. I had gotten lucky with some work that won  a  few awards and got me a little press. The agency I was working for was part of a big global network and the work had earned me a small dose of name recognition inside the company. Which is probably why my partner, Bryce, and I got called into the managing director’s office for an “exciting assignment.” “What’s up guys? Come on in.” Bryce looks like a fucking criminal. He wears steel toed biker boots, black everything and reeks of cigarettes. His nails are filthy. His muddy Jeep with enormous knobby tires is always parked across two spaces in the very back of the lot. He’s the kind of guy who can get you anything you want. He’s fun to hang out with and he’s not a bad art director. “You guys ever been to Brazil?” I shake my head no. Bryce hesitates. It’s as if he needs to run through a mental checklist in his head before answering because it’s possible he’s been there but may have forgot