At the offices of Global Glut Realty Corp., Joe and Schmoe sit at a polished black granite conference table, wearing Brioni suits. Manhattan, viewed through the smoked glass floor-to-ceiling windows of a corporate high-rise, stretches out beneath them.
SCHMOE: They're nice apartments I have, Joe, all over the city. I don't understand why they're not renting.
JOE: You're out of date; you need to get with the whole ecological revolution. People want their place to be sustainable and stuff.
SCHMOE: What the hell is that supposed to mean?
JOE: You know, like, long lasting, and, uh...natural.
SCHMOE: WTF? You mean I have renovate? I just redid all these places. They're like minty fresh.
JOE: Nah, you don't have to do nothing. Just emphasize the environmental aspect in your New York Times adverts. Green, green, green. That's the word everyone is using. Make it green.
SCHMOE: C'mon, stop yankin' it. The apartments are painted white. Who the hell wants a green apartment?
JOE: Not green the color, you moron. Like, as in natural, you know whuttum saying? Like a spinach milkshake or some shit. Like, yoga. Put a tree in there, dickhead. I dunno, put a picture of a fountain, some bubbly water. Just make sure you call it green in big letters. Paint a picture of a tree, or a goddamn bird or something. You see how I'm helping you, here?
SCHMOE: A bird? What do I know from birds? You mean, like a parrot, or what?
JOE: No, you jerk. Like some wild natural creature, you know, that flies around in trees and stuff.
SCHMOE: How am I supposed to take a picture of a bird?
JOE: You really are thick today, Schmoe. Let me order us up a couple of frappuccinos, get that brain working. Look, it's not particle physics. Just go on the internet, and get a nice picture of a bird, and just kind of place it tastefully in your ad, there. You'll see; people will be signing leases in no time.