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Sean shamelessly leverages all his friends and acquaintances and former coworkers to come to his nonprofit benefit thing, and when I arrive an hour or so after it’s started, the space is teeming with people too rich for their own good.
The four-story glass curtain wall of the Kauffman Center looks out onto a dark sky and a brightly lit city underneath it. From my vantage by the glass, I can see the way the city churns up into a hill, capped with the pale spire of the Liberty Memorial. It looks like a buttress for the sky.
Please, God, I say silently in the direction of the hill. Please. Be with me tonight.
Prayer said, I discreetly use my reflection in the glass to make sure I look okay—the tux fits fine, but I feel silly wearing it, and I’ve shaved and the sight of my naked jaw
