Unfailingly

The sun was already creeping up the horizon when the fat businessman arrived back at his fancy Manhattan home. He tipped the taxi driver only the loose change from the fare — the mustached Indian’s swerves and sudden stops made his throbbing hangover that much worse — then stepped out and mounted the few steps up to his front door. Short of breath from the mild exertion, he panted as he fished out his keys. Maybe I should watch my weight, he thought while letting himself in. Not that he had any intent to follow through on that passing idea; his ex-wife was no longer around to nag him, and his pretty playthings were paid to accept him as he was, fat rolls and body odor and glistening sweat and all.