the man had the glass full of martini in one hand and a joint in another. who cares, he thought as he took the smoke in and threw it out trying and failing to make a ring of smoke. he never understood how those 'cool guys' did that in college times. or maybe he is too grown up for that now.
he talks to himself a lot. not because he is an introvert. but because he doesn't really have someone to talk to. no living soul he could trust on, rely upon. sadly the piles of green paper that he has in 3 layered locked cash rooms, do not talk to him. tens of hunky bodyguard, tens of vigilant security personnels. but no one he could confide on. probably, the stories of distress and triumph, the story of his life, would go with himself. how much could someone understand from the words on the gravestone, he asked himself.
in his list of priorites, money was always the second. everything earthly was secondary. love was heavenly, so it topped the list. sadly he fell prey to the complications. only if he was one of those 'cool guys'!
he talks to himself a lot. not because he is an introvert. but because he doesn't really have someone to talk to. no living soul he could trust on, rely upon. sadly the piles of green paper that he has in 3 layered locked cash rooms, do not talk to him. tens of hunky bodyguard, tens of vigilant security personnels. but no one he could confide on. probably, the stories of distress and triumph, the story of his life, would go with himself. how much could someone understand from the words on the gravestone, he asked himself.
in his list of priorites, money was always the second. everything earthly was secondary. love was heavenly, so it topped the list. sadly he fell prey to the complications. only if he was one of those 'cool guys'!
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