Imagine

You’re 53 years old

You have mutiple sons, oldest one is 17 maybe

Your back hurts when you wake up. But it’s ok, you are not a young man anymore.

You’re wearing a nice custom made suit. Patek Philippe 5711 Rose Gold on your wrist.

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You drive a Rollce Royce and see some young 19 year old girls down the street.

They don’t give a fuck about you.

They’d rather fuck a young hustler instead.

You manage to fuck now and then but deep down you know it’s 100% because your status, no genuine desire and shit.

You’re ok with it. You know this is how the game goes.

Each year gives you something but it also robs you of something.

You sit and talk with your eldest son every weekend, trying to train him.

Now it’s more about the family than it is about YOU.

Your son wants to hear stories about your 20’s, about your 30’s

You start talking. Memories about you pimping bitches, cheating on girls, even on his mother ( who is laughing in the background co-singing what you say), how you made money with hoes & lived a playboys lifestyle.

Your son is impressed. You show him pictures and videos. He is proud to have your last name.

At school he’s saying “My dad was crazy bro I’m telling you”

It sounds nice isn’t it?

Yes I know. This will be my reality. I can foresee the future because I’m forging it right now.

Would you rather have memories like these or memories of calculating calories in an office in Nebraska?

I already know the answer

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