Dorsinvil is smart, capable, bold, and has any number of the attributes you need to be a successful entrepreneur. His business has gone gangbusters without the benefit of preferential treatment, and in an open market, he seems like the last guy you'd want to compete against, whatever your color might be.
I don't ask him if he feels disadvantaged. To do so would almost seem an insult after all he's just told me. Nor do I make him for a cynic, though he's obviously not above gaming a system that invites cynical exploitation. So I rib him a little instead. "Let me get this straight," I say. "You're a minority-owned business. You've partnered with a woman, and she's gone green . . ." I don't finish my thought, before a broad smile crosses Dorsinvil's face, as though he's holding three aces, and the fourth one could be next out of the dealer shoe. "All I need is a disabled vet," he jokes, about the surreal advantages of being disadvantaged, "and I'm in the money."
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