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Greet Carl when he arrives and get him on stream. Then smoke another pre-roll and tell the stream about the salary quadrupling. Check the subscriber count and read the best chat messages aloud. End the long weekend stream when it turns from Tuesday to Wednesday. The final activity is a literal pissing contest. I win

The elevator opens at seven-thirty and Carl fills the doorway — 345 pounds of naked, bearded, barefoot, unwashed, a rotisserie chicken in one hand and a case of beer under the other arm, the skin golden and the smell preceding him by ten feet. He steps into the hallway and the tile clicks under his thick yellow toenails and he grins when he sees the open office door and the light and the smoke and the three of them on the carpet. He walks in and the floor takes him and the phone catches him — 345 pounds entering the frame live, the chat erupting, the viewer count jumping from 340 to 380 in the time it takes him to set the chicken and the beer on the desk and drop onto the carpet beside Diane.

"Four bodies," someone in the chat types. "FOUR BODIES," someone else types. Lena lights a pre-roll from the desk drawer and the smoke rises and she passes it to Marcus and he passes it to Diane and Diane passes it to Carl and the pre-roll makes the circuit and the stream watches and the chat watches and the office is thick with smoke and smell and warmth. Lena leans toward the phone. The belly spreads on the thighs. The yellow nails grip the desk edge.

"Our salaries quadrupled this week," she says. The chat explodes.

"The branch numbers are real. The work is real. We did three months of work in five hours drunk and high and naked and the company paid us four times what they paid us before." The tips stack — $30, $50, $100 with no message. Someone types "quadrupled QUADRUPLED" in all caps seventeen times. Someone types "I want to work there." Someone types "the four of you are the most honest people on the internet and you're all naked and unwashed and I've never been more certain of anything in my life."

She checks the subscriber count. 1,047. The stream has been live since Friday afternoon and it is now Monday night — approaching Tuesday — and the number has climbed steadily through every meal and every smoke and every piss and every shit and every nap and every greasy handful of chicken and every swig of beer and every moment the four of them have been alive on camera. The count crossed 1,000 on Friday night and kept going — 1,012, 1,034, 1,047 — and the tips have stacked into four figures and the chat has never slowed. She scrolls to the top of the chat and reads the best messages aloud.

"'The carpet is a national treasure.'" Marcus laughs.

"'Diane's beard has more personality than most people I know.'" Diane's beard moves — the mouth underneath it not quite smiling.

"'I started watching this stream on Friday and I haven't left my apartment since and I don't know if that's your fault but I think it's your fault.'" Carl laughs so hard the beer sloshes.

Tuesday slides toward Wednesday. The food is gone — the chicken carcass on the carpet, the beer case empty, the pasta container dry, the donut box holding nothing but grease stains, the whiskey bottle on its side. The office is destroyed in a way the office has never been destroyed before — four bodies worth of wrappers and bottles and ash and stains and the corner behind the filing cabinet and the carpet and the air. The stream has been live for ninety-six hours. The red dot holds. The WiFi holds. The four of them are on the carpet — 440 and 387 and 360 and 345, over 1,500 pounds of naked unwashed barefoot flesh in one room — and the chat is still moving and the subscriber count is 1,063 and the tips have stacked past $3,000 and the night is turning into Wednesday.

"Last thing," Lena says to the stream. She stands. The chair groans. The belly settles. Marcus stands. Diane stands. Carl stands. The four of them enormous and swaying in the gold light and the destroyed office.

"Pissing contest." The chat loses its mind. The four of them stand in a line facing the far wall — the wall that is already stained, the wall that has been accepting everything the office has produced for weeks — and Lena counts down on her yellow nails. Three. Two. One. The sound is immediate and real and the stream catches it — four streams hitting the wall at different angles, the chat typing in all caps, the tips arriving in waves. Marcus finishes first. Carl second. Diane third. Lena is still going. The stream runs yellow and long and the chat types "440 WINS" and someone tips $50 with the message "the champion" and Lena laughs and the belly shakes and the piss keeps going and the wall is soaked and the carpet is soaked and the office is soaked and the red dot holds and the night turns into Wednesday and Lena stops the stream.

The screen goes dark. The office is quiet. The four of them are standing in the wreckage — 1,532 pounds of naked unwashed barefoot flesh and the wall is dripping and the carpet is saturated and the air is thick and the stream is over and the numbers are real. 1,063 subscribers. $3,400 in tips. Ninety-six hours. The longest stream Lena has ever run. The biggest content event she has ever produced. The office is destroyed and the weekend is over and Wednesday is here and the wish hums under everything and the hum is everything and the four of them are laughing.