Date: September 28th, 2018 8:26 PM
Author: Free-loading Indirect Expression
There were three distinguishing features of the Skadden Directorate:
One, its walls were no less than three feet thick, durasteel solid and true, honed in Midwest farm factories by honest men sweat drenched and short sleeved, smiling pride at the knowledge that they work they were undertaking was in resurrection of the country, tempered in the transit by the cold rains of the Reconstituted Great Lakes plains, reinforced on arrival by summer associates flexing strength and deft fingers to weave synthetic mesh into their exterior shell.
Two, at full complement, more than 30,000 attorneys, staff, and motherfucking crew worked within, drawn to this Mecca of the legal world to give their daily devotion in sixteen hour slogs apiece of jurisprudential wondermaking, the sound of its rooftop speakers blasting out the intellectual emanations of the collective in fifteen minute intervals into the Manhattan Canyon, a torrent river of scholarly sounds coming forth to bathe the laypeople of the city by the quarter hour, synthetic poetic yarn weaving of citations and case law, contract clauses and triple tranche allowances, the buzzing beework of their lawyerly industry for all to marvel at.
Three, it was rumored that, in time of great crisis, from within the building's secureCORE, the deal team of all deal teams--Six their signature, "Death" their callsign--would deploy to protect the interests of the firm and its clients, giants in the legendariums of law schools, visions in the dreams of bright-eyed hero-worshiping boys across the country, the foundation of our nation's hope, called to action once more in defense of all that civilization holds dear.
For many years, safe within this fortress, good works were produced, the lawyers bestowing the regrowing lands with their virtue blessing.