"Excuse me sir, your car is ready."
Staring at my new toy being delivered to me, I reflect and realize that life is good for me. Matter of fact, life couldn't be any better. In the midst of my thoughts, my Blackberry chirps, alerting me to a new text message and I smile, noticing that I have just made 250 grand from my laptop while watching my rims get cleaned. Damn, I love the game. My wifey is flyer than most models, I've traveled the world more times than I can count, and I am wealthy without having a jump shot or a hit record. I keep company with celebrities and I've bedded a few of your favorite r&b singers. Don't ask-i'm not telling. Point blank-i'm young, black, and rich, but all good things must end, so i'm leaving the game on top. "Gosh sir, you're like the uh, luckiest guy in the world to have a ride this sweet!", the young salesman says, gazing at the only sky blue Ferrari Enzo in the world. Flashing my well-practiced business smile, I clutch the keys to my gorgeous wheel, noticing the jealousy, envy, and hate in the country club white boys who would never be this fly, confident, or successful. "Hey pal, which team do you play on?", cookie cutter number one asks, assuming I have to be a pro athlete. Between visions of choking his dumb ass out, I crack a devious smile and reply, saying, "I'm into finances, mainly overseas acquisitions and wire transfers." Their group gasps, realizing they aren't dealing with the usual black man, but I have the last laugh, hopping into a million dollar car that most only see in magazines. I know that my line of work is dangerous, but I'm addicted to the game.
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