So this isn't a story, but someone gave me the idea to write this as a blog entry, mainly because, as you will see when you read it, if you HAD met this guy, the meeting probably would have been blog-worthy.
So here we go:
George worked on the 15th floor of the Fleet Building right in the heart of downtown. He got to work every morning at about 9AM and left every evening at exactly 5PM. Most Fridays, when he got off work, he went to a little bar across the street, had a few beers, then went home.
This week, however, he heard about a brand new bar that opened on the top floor of the building in which he worked. It was, apparently, really fancy and George thought it sounded neat, having a drink on the 99th floor, so he decided to go there when he got off work on Friday, instead of his normal place.
Friday afternoon rolled around, George closed his computer, picked up his coat, and took the elevator to the very top of the building. He got off and walked into the bar. It was lavishly furnished, like a bar out of a gangster movie, but there were only two people in there, the bartender and one client.