The room smelled of sweat and burnt coffee. Greased pizza boxes stacked as high as the papers on the table. Men and women shuffled through them. Heavy bags under their eyes. Bloodshot.

At the end of the room in front of a wall of monitors the fat men sat in their stink.
What now, asked the fat man.
Call their bluff, the fatter man shouted.
There's no more money in the pot, a sickly thin man said, it's all gone.
Gone?
Whaddya mean gone?
The men and women shuffled quietly.
It's gone. Funds drained, said the thin man.
The hell it went to, said the fattest man. He sat in the middle of them all. Gold hair standing on columns of sweat above his caterpillar brows.
Last campaign, sir, the thin man cowered.
What do we got left, ask the fat man.
Not much. We can't move anymore funds. We'd have to sell something, anything.
Like what?
Anything.
Anything?
The hell anything.
Well, whaddya have?
What do we got?
The hell we're selling.
What's the black buying?
Black buys anything.
The hell anything?
Anything.
Like what?
Like anything, sir.
The hell we selling to black.
The list, sir.
Whaddya mean a list?
The list?
The hell a list?
The list.
Go on.
Names, places, faces. You know. Everything. On everyone everywhere.
The list!
The list!
The hell we sell the list!

The men and women sat in their stupor. Eyes fixed. Don't look. Keep working.

The fattest man gassed the room then turned and face the crowd with a smile. The hell we sell the goddamn list. What's it going for on the black?
Seventy billion, said the thin man.
Seventy billion, said the fat man.
Seventy billion, echoed the fatter man.
The hell, seventy billion, smiled the fattest man.

The fat men looked at each other. Grins ear to ear. The fat man stood. Walked to the pizza box and devoured it. We still the goddamn list, he said. Mouthful and drooling.

The fatter man rolled his way to the other pillar of boxes. Devoured them cardboard and all. He grabbed a woman. Wiped his mouth with her skirt and tossed her to the bin. She sat in the barrel. Everyone heard her cry. No one left their seat.

The fattest man snapped his finger. The food was chewed for him placed in his mouth and a young man helped him swallow. Another man came to wipe the fattest man's mouth only to have his fingers sucked right off. The hell, we sell. We sell the goddamn list.

The thin man trembled. Looked up. Looked down right away. There might be blow back, he whimpered.
Blow back?
Whaddya mean blow back?
The hell with the blow back.

The thin man closed his eyes tight. With the public, he said.
The public?
Whaddya mean the public?
The hell with the public, roared the fattest man, we are them. We own them. Every last one of those tax paying bastards. We sell. The hell, we sell it all. Names, face, places. The whole goddamn thing.
But, the thin man said, the media--
We own them too.
We own them too!
The hell, we own them too!
We say its a hack
Yeah, a hack.
The hell, it was a hack, said the fattest man, and besides what are they gonna do?