A few days ago, I got together with a good friend of mine, Justin. We met at Caffe Ladro in Fremont, bright'n'early at 7am. We talked virtually non-stop for two and a half hours, pausing briefly only to breathe and to sip our drinks.
As we hadn't seen each other in two months, we had lots to share -- new favorite podcasts, interesting developments in the world of technology, and profound insights about early retirement. Justin also filled me in on his recent bike trip to Cuba, and I apprised Justin of my recent bike guiding experiences.
I had really been looking forward to guiding bicycle trips for a local company this summer. However, after guiding the first two trips, I realized that the company wasn't a good fit for me. The company had some business practices that I wasn't comfortable with. And so being the principled person that I am, I decided I would no longer work for the company.
"It must be nice to have fuck-you money," Justin said, with a covetous smile.
I tilted my head and raised my eyebrows: "Fuck-you money?"