"Ah ha!" he smirks to himself, "I see you, Jeffrey."

"Bingo. Treats! Magazine. Of course there's a fucking 'Treats' magazine and of course that filthy vapid motherfucker Epstein is subscribed to their news letter."

"I'm gonna get this. The scoop is mine."

Tipping forward his black felt Fedora, the hunched nerd finally straightens back into his chair, lower back collapsing into the lumbar support pad as he rolls his neck and shoulders, surprised to find the burn of built up lactic acid finally circulating out of his muscles.

Fuckin' dexadrine, he thinks as he absendmindedly starts kneading at a couple of familiar knots in his back. Fucking futile.

Three fingers of brown liquor, half gone before he's back at the keyboard. Fresh cigarette to his lips as finally he resumes sating his innate gumshoe curiousity. What stupid boomer shit are you and your fellow zillionaire treat enthusiasts treating yourselves to anyway? Probably some disappointingly prosaic shit.

But it doesn't matter to him. This wretch and dozens (at least!) just like him live for the sweetest treat of all- finding out the mortifying treat indulgences of the rich and infamous so they can crack the same 6 jokes to each other and just smugly know.

See, the thing about power, is it doesn't buy taste. Not that taste matters to the amalgamation of spasming muscles, frayed nerves and bone. Nor should it, bougie standards of culture and aesthetics are worse than meaningless. What the fuck is this sad excuse for an investigator even doing with their life? It doesn't sound like praxis and it sure doesn't look like he's getting paid.

"Mmmm-mm!" The pitiful human slagheap rubs his hands together in anticipation then leans in.

"Can't wait to show the fellas THIS on Hexbear dot net. Haha, yes! haha"

Cursor drag. Click drag. An email client ingests the file and unfolds like delicate origami.

....

"OH FOR FUCKSAKE. PORN? YOU ONE. DIMENSIONAL. PIECE. OF. SHIT ARE THESE CHILDREN OR AM I JUST FUCKING ANCIENT?"

I can't take this back to the Bear site he shakes his head slightly, sadly, nobody wants to see this. Ugh why didn't I expect porn?

He downs the remains of his drink, which he now knows with certainty that he does not deserve.

"Whelp, off to Hexbear."