“He’s the best,” he says. “He got drunk at our last holiday party and started giving out hundred-dollar bills. Last year we shot an air freshener ad in Tokyo and he bared his ass to the whole of Shibuya Crossing from a Starbucks window because he lost a bet. All these Japanese people were freaking out.” “And yet, amazingly, the glass ceiling still exists,” I say. Myke rolls his eyes and wheels his chair away from my desk. “It’s not because he’s a man he did that stuff,” he says. “It’s because he was drunk.”
