Anh Tu in the Meadow

I was in a spot, all right. My last course of action was to pay a visit to Anh Tu The Stock-Broking Part-Time Advertising Executive at his four-storey high-rise premium lakefront mansion overlooking Caroline Springs™ to see if he could alleviate my rut.
"The arse on this bird!" he yelled enthusiastically. "I mean it was like someone had stuffed two pink beach balls into a wetsuit." He salivated uncontrollably and I began to wonder how the conversation reached this point.
"But she was so fucking dumb," he continued. "I had to make her go down on me so she couldn't talk anymore."
"About my problem—" I interrupted impatiently. He looked at me for a moment in utter confusion, then snapped his fingers as if he suddenly realised who I was.
"Yes!" he said. "Your problem." He repeated these words a few times to himself as he paced around the room. "Well," he said eventually, "I could give you Cindy — I'm started to get sick of her."
"No," I said forcefully. "I mean my money problem."
"Oh." He looked confused again and he began to scratch his scalp thoughtfully. "Look," he started, "I'd lend you some of my own, but I couldn't be sure you'd pay me back, so it'd just be like throwing money down the drain."
"That's not what I meant," I explained wearily. "I just came for some advice."
"Advice?"
"Yes."
He nodded contemplatively.
"Well, I don't know any Pro Bono lawyers. Most of 'em hate his guts, you see." He roared with a baritone laugh that expanded his grotesquely-exposed belly.
"If you're not going to take this seriously, then I'll be on my way," I said.
"No, no. I'm sorry." He patted me on the back with a thick right arm. "I'll give you some advice, sure." He led me over to a lavish couch and motioned for me to sit. When I obeyed, he turned to face the window.
"I have a friend who deals with these sorts of things," he said. "And I'm sure I could get him to lower his fees a bit."
"Is he any good?" I asked.
"He's very good — provided you're willing to plead insanity."
"That's what I keep telling myself, anyway," I said.
"Good, good." He turned to face me. "How much evidence have they got against you?"
"Well they've got my trench coat," I replied.
"It'll have to be insanity, then."
After fishing around in another room, he handed me a small business card and ushered me out the door.
"Thanks," I said as I made my way down the steps.
"No problem," he called after me. "Good luck."
"I haven't got a prayer, have I?" I asked.
"'A lost battle is a battle one thinks one has lost,'" he said.
"'Once you hear the details of victory, it is hard to distinguish it from a defeat,'" I retorted.
He laughed and waved till I was firmly out of view and on my way to never seeing him again.