The Decompression Code of Fifth Avenue

Author: Brian

When the morning light penetrated the glass curtain wall of the Flatiron Building, my tour guide Allen was already waiting by the Picasso sculpture at the south gate of Central Park. The former Yale debate captain, wearing a custom three-piece suit, was wiping an antique pocket watch with suede gloves - later I learned that this was a 1847 train conductor watch he bought with his first legal consulting fee. "Breakfast on Wall Street is never eaten at the table." He led me into the side door of the Museum of Modern Art, and the waiter pushed the dining cart, truffle scrambled eggs served on a porcelain plate in the shape of Jeff Koons' balloon dog.

In the private salon of the Columbia University think tank, Allen unlocked the true value of business escorts. He fluently switched between four languages ​​to greet scholars from various countries, but suddenly switched to Busan dialect when the Korean semiconductor giant approached. When we were checking out the original manuscripts at the Morgan Library, he pointed to the coffee stains on the edge of a page: "On the day of the stock market crash in 1987, old Morgan drew three question marks next to this line of numbers." On the way to a jazz bar in Harlem in the afternoon, his custom-made leather shoes suddenly stopped in front of the fire escape of an apartment building: "Langston Hughes wrote "The Negro Talks About Rivers" here, and now the new hedge fund elites live on the top floor."

Lincoln Center in the night is like a crystal chessboard. Allen took out two pool tickets like a magic trick - the position is just right to see the conductor's trembling eyelashes. "The client used these two tickets to offset the consulting fee last year." During the intermission, he showed the 17 social apps on his phone, "The real Upper East Side socializing is done in the third cubicle of the bathroom." When we parted, he handed me a gold-stamped business card with a string of coordinates in Braille on the back. Two weeks later, I found the underground cigar bar on Madison Avenue according to the location, and the bartender pushed Allen's 1961 Macallan: "He said you would need this - a bargaining chip for negotiating with Tokyo customers."