The name's Enslow, Robert Enslow, and I carry a briefcase. I'm an Attorney-at-bar, at your service if you have a big enough bank account.
I work in conference rooms, my large office with a view that I never look at, in my car - I love my car - barrooms, bathroom floors and, when I can't avoid it, courtrooms. I'm good at avoiding it, though. In fact, if you see me in a courtroom, something's gone terribly wrong for the opposing team, and it's about to get worse.
The large office, the apartment, and the car come courtesy of the firm Granick and Melnick. I brought some of my better clients; by better, I mean people who would much, much rather sign their name to an obscenely large check made out to me instead of reading it in the papers. I deliver clients because I settle cases, and if it really, really comes down to a courtroom scenario, I'll cherry-pick a jury that would decide for my clients even if they were literally foaming at the mouth (not kidding. You can ask a certain starlet.) Does that make me a bad lawyer? No. It makes me a brilliant one.
The gin? Ignore it. It helps me think. It also helps me stop thinking, to wake up, fall asleep and otherwise function. You can take your meetings and shove them. I quit smoking three years after law school, but I'll be buried with this glass in my hand.
That's me in a nutshell. Take my card - you might need it, if you can afford it.