ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A French Quarter city worker organises most of his client meetings at his favourite coffee house, Le Pisse Dans Ma Poche Cafe. Today is no different.
Harvey Malthouse, who runs a largely-unsuccessful boutique and bespoke social media branding agency, told our reporter this morning that he’s been to nearly every cafe near Betoota WeWork’s offices on Rue De L’Argent De Papa – and none to a
“Simply unbeatable,” he said softly.
The 28-year-old’s sickly Victorian pallor was confronting. He holds himself with the type of depressing, unfounded panache that many entrepreneurs cut from the same cloth posses.
An Old Boy of Betoota Grove’s exclusive Whooton School For Boys. He knows that the family trust keeps investing in his business to write off capital gains from other more successful investments. But he doesn’t care. In his head, he’s killing it. He’ll never go hungry or end up on the street.
“Errol, are you listening? What do you want to drink?”
Harvey had just ordered a large extra-hot mugachino with two heaped tablespoons of white sugar carelessly thrown on top of the froth.
As today was a rather grim morning in the newsroom, The Advocate‘s parent company released an annual report to investors that was more fun to read than Jimmy Anderson’s memoirs.
There will be job cuts; anthrax will be mailed to our offices by disgruntled former employees. Things will get worse before they get better.
“Make that two, please,” said our reporter.
“And a slice of banana bread. Yes, with butter.”
More to come.
