Forty-Nine
Bad Optics
For the remainder of the week, Finan and I carry on as if nothing is out of the ordinary. We go to work, we manage our unending to-do lists, we juggle Humboldt responsibilities and answer residents’ questions and field media inquiries and handle shipments of food and cargo arriving via the marina and manage the agritechs and maintenance crews and ignore Kelly Lockhart and her stupid s*x toy Hunter as much as possible. We forgo Friday after-work beers at the Salamander so as not to put ourselves in view of crews or other residents. I text Eugenia and Benny regular pictures and video of Humboldt being goofy and adorable and of Andromache being lush and green. I post on i********: so that everything on Thalia Island looks idyllic and peaceful to the rest of the world,
