rich man poor man
One of the saddest things in this whole wide world is to watch someone who comes into money, a lot of money, then manages in the time it takes to spell L-O-S-E-R, fritters it all away. They got it made in the shade, but no …. They want more. So they ‘invest’ in, oh, the stock market or commodities or some knee-jerk pal’s idiotic scheme to double that blessed largesse. Only to watch the market crash or nettle futures drop to $1 a bale or the ‘can’t miss’ investment in medical marijuana growing go down in flames.
My pal Fishin Freddy got a million dollar settlement from an Alaska boat disability that left him with a bad back and limited mobility and constant pain. Some South Enders might think a million greenbacks were the pot at the end of many a rainbow guarded by troll-like leprechauns, but Freddy? No, Freddy thought of this as in initial downpayment on future wealth. And, of course, a smart boy might’ve parlayed that pot, grown it with conservative investment strategies, maybe even hired investment counselors.
Fishin Freddy didn’t need fiscal advice, he was pretty damn sure of THAT!!!
Bought him and the missus his and her sinister black Chryslers with dark tinted glass. Looked like the Mafia had infiltrated the South End. Kind of a police magnet, really, all the more problematic if you haul contraband which, you know, I know, and certainly the sheriff’s knew, he did. You don’t like investment counselors, believe me, you won’t like attorneys and their fees and court costs.
First time I saw Freddy after his windfall, he was selling high end tools he’d bought …. at yardsale prices. Not a good sign, I thought at the time, turning his offers down. Last time I saw him he was selling firewood. Millionaires don’t usually sell firewood. Hard work for a disabled fisherman rich guy. Especially when half the wood was cut off property he didn’t own.
I haven’t seen Freddy for awhile. Heard he was poaching deer in the ravines behind me. The law says you must use only a shotgun, not a rifle, since a rifle bullet might travel a mile. Freddy, of course, was using a rifle. Believe me, I’m reluctant to walk the woods lately, but I figure, give him a few weeks, he’ll offer that 30 ought 6 to me for a song and maybe some fresh venison to boot. Sell it for a price that should buy himself a case or two of cheap beer.
I guess a million dollars just isn’t what it used to be.
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