God, I haven’t been back to this place in a long time.

It’s one of those places that never changes, but always feels like it’s on the brink of something. One of those old places that’s covered with a new veneer every so often. The streets are old and there’s cobblestone under the concrete, and the concrete is newly-poured. The buildings on this little stretch are old, but they’re filled with new shops and shiny, new windows showing their wares.

It’s where I grew up, but I feel like I am seeing it with new eyes. In some ways, it’s like I never left. That’s how ingrained it feels to me.

The narrow street moves under our black town car, rough in places but smooth in others, as though they started repaving the street but stopped half-way through, got bored or ran out of money or for some other reason entirely, and moved onto something else.

“This is it,” Mark says, snapping his leather portfolio closed. He peers out the window and doesn’t look pleased. “This is it?”

“I told you it needs some love,” I say, slapping him gently on the arm with the back of my hand. “I think it’s charming.”

“Charming or a piece of -”

“Don’t you even try it,” I say, opening the car door and getting out.

A light gray mist is coming down around us, but I don’t feel melancholy at all. The sky is gray, but I feel excited for this new venture.

“I’m doing this because I trust you Elliot,” he says, “and because you’ve never steered me wrong.”

Mark gets out of the car after me and we’re standing on the sidewalk, looking up at the building.

It’s almost like the first time I met him. We were both interviewing for junior analyst positions at one of the larger commercial real estate firms in New York City, and at first I thought of him as my competition. I’d met him on the sidewalk outside the building, and we both looked up at the skyscraper just like we are right now.

Except this isn’t a skyscraper. This is a little storefront, made of red and black brick, and the exterior is in need of pointing. The door is black and metal and looks like the backdoor of a club, not a professional office. And there’s a mail slot on the door, which isn’t very secure.

It’s perfect.

And now, Mark isn’t my competition. He’s my business partner.

“I know they say past results can’t guarantee future outcomes,” I say, “but I have a good feeling about this.”

I take my keyring out of my pocket and motion to our driver to drive around to the small parking lot behind the building.

“You’ve got a key to this place?” Mark says, squinting at the building as though it’s sunny out. “Why bother locking it up? There’s nothing in here anyone would want to steal, from the looks of it.”

“You don’t go around locking up your bike when you’re not using it?” I say, walking toward to the front door. I unlock it and push the door open, and Mark follows me in.

“Of course I lock it up. But that’s something people might want to steal. That shit’s expensive. Do I sense that you’re mocking me right now?”

I look back at him and flash a smile as we walk into the building we’ve just purchased.

Call it a change of scenery. A change of pace.

Mark’s right, though. This place will really need some cleaning up.

He coughs as he takes another step inside. I go over to the window, a large, simple clear glass pane that seems to be original to the structure of the building, and slide it open.

“So what was the point of locking the front door if the windows were left unlocked?” Mark asks sardonically, looking around, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Maybe the keys were just decorative,” I concede, “and you’re right. This place is a little run-down. But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it? A new challenge? A new opportunity?”

Mark smiles and rubs his hands together. That’s the man I know.

“A new opportunity,” he says, “to take over the whole Northeast.”

Mark and I may have started working together just out of college about ten years ago, but we quickly became bored and decided to branch out on our own. We wanted to continue in commercial real estate investments, but we also wanted to carve out our own niche. We wanted to uncover a hidden gem, find a diamond in the rough and polish it up and make it fucking sparkle.

We got to talking about it, and quickly found a sub-industry where we thought we could make a lot of money, and the research bore that out.

“Total world domination next, right man?” I say, peering out the window. There are no screens, and that is perfectly okay, because by the time we are done with this place, it will be absolutely unrecognizable.

“You never know,” he replies.

Mark practically gets hard when we talk about money. And I know what he means when he’s talking about new opportunities and taking over the Northeast with our new brand.

He’s talking about cold, hard cash.

“Here, let me give you the tour,” I say, walking over to the elevator in the the back corner of the first floor.

The space is open and it’s perfect, and we decided on it because it is a blank canvas for us to make our mark on. We can design this place from the inside-out, make it exactly what we want, mold it to our exact specifications.

We cross the large room covered with basic concrete flooring. I know this place used to be a clothing boutique, and prior to that, a butcher’s shop. I don’t know what it was before that, though.

And it doesn’t matter. All that matters is what it will become.

We get off the elevator and the second floor looks just like the first.

“Not much to show me, is there?” Mark says, tugging on his chin. “We’re gonna have to build out this whole place, not that I don’t want to do it.”

“You’re right,” I say, “there isn’t much yet. But this is where we need to be. This is where the real shit is happening now. This is where the real shit is happening next.”

“So who gets the bigger office?” Mark says, pacing slowly across the large, open space. The ceilings are high and I want to leave them exposed, turn this whole upstairs into an industrial loft style space.

“I was thinking more of a co-working space,” I say, looking around, gesturing as I explain my vision. “Big desks here for our staff, and over here, in the corner, is where we’ll have our engineers and architects. Our two offices will have walls, but they’ll be glass, and I want everyone to feel like they’re working on something together.”

“So you’re telling me that I downgraded from my own private suite and now I have to work in a coworking office?” Mark says, flashing me a look.

“You said you would go along with my vision, within reason. And I think this is reasonable. Plus, it’s just temporary. When we’re done here in a couple months, we will pack up and rent the office out and go back to the City. Or somewhere else. Wherever we want. The world is our oyster, Mark.”

“I can see you have put a lot of thought into this,” he says, turning around, “and I trust you. I think this is going to be fantastic. I can see the dollar signs already. As long as my office is bigger.”

“I thought we were partners on this,” I say, smiling, “and you’re turning it into a competition.”

“It’s not a competition,” he says plainly, with a smirk on his face, “my office is just gonna be bigger. That’s all there is to it.”

“Whatever you want, Mark,” I say, a chuckle in my voice.

“I’m kidding around with you,” Mark says, going over to the window on the far wall of the expansive space. “You’re right about coworking. And you’re right about having our staff feel as included as possible, making them feel as though they’re really working with us. Because we are about to turn over a new leaf, and we should really be on the same page about all of it.”

He looks out with window with his hands on his hips, surveying the rolling hills just beyond the quiet, lazy street below us. In the distance to the left is the mighty Hudson River, rolling with a quiet intensity.

“I’m glad you agree with me,” I say, stepping next to him.

This space is going to be perfect, and it’s going to be mine and my partner’s. I can’t wait.

“It’s getting late,” Mark says, checking his watch, “and I think we should go grab a drink. See what this town has to offer. We’re going to be here for a while, and we should get acquainted with it.”

“I know a good place,” I say, “we should swing by the bowling alley. Get a feel for the place.”

“Sounds good,” Mark says, “but don’t count on me to throw any balls. That’s not my style.”

“If it were up to you, you’d just pay someone to do it for you.”

“You know me too well, my friend.”

“You don’t have to actually bowl,” I say, “but we should grab a drink at the bar there. It’s nice. Cozy. And you’ll be able to get an idea of the kind of folks we’re dealing with. They’re nice. They’re not stuck up pricks like you are.”

“You know, coming from anyone else, that might hurt my feelings,” Mark says, “but I do like a nice, wholesome, salt-of-the-earth woman.”

“I’m know you do, and you’ll have them in spades while we’re here.”

“You still have any contacts out here?”

“Not really,” I say as we walk back to the elevator. “Everyone’s either moved on, or the people who stayed out here I lost touch with a very long time ago. You know how it is.”

“Of course,” Mark says, laughing, “you think you’re too good, you escaped to the City to line your pockets with some of that green. You didn’t want to be a country boy anymore.”

“That’s you you’re talking about,” I say as we get into the elevator. “I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I didn't lose contact on purpose. You know I’m addicted to my work.”

“No man, I get you. I tend to lose contact with people all the time.”

“That’s because as soon as you sleep with a woman, you lose their number.”

“Hey, they know what they’re getting into. They know exactly what they’re getting with me. It’s not my fault they always want more.”

“Okay big guy, I get it.”

After I close the windows, we walk outside and I lock up behind us. Mark laughs and rolls his eyes at me. Maybe he’s right, maybe I don’t need to lock up strictly speaking, but I still want to.

We walk around to the parking lot, where our driver’s waiting for us.

“Where to, fellas?” he asks, adjusting the rear view mirror as we get into the back seat.

“Going out for a quick drink,” I say. Mark looks out the window and watches our new office as we drive away.

“Sounds good, boss,” our driver says.