Aren’t you rich?

I want you to show me again and again, and never for the last time. Take me behind hostile doors, seat me in leather, waft Cuban smoke.

Take me with you. Give me stranger smiles and square feet.

Aren’t you rich?

Advance me a peg.

Make my Dad proud.

Build me a home, buy me a car, commission a garden.

Hide me behind thick walls and beautiful fabric.

Don’t you worry.

Our sadness will foot the bill.

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