Today, I own a bike.
Well I stole that, actually, from a twelve year old kid who didn’t bother locking it up.
When I was twenty, I had a balance in my bank account with more zeros attached to it than I own articles of clothing today. When I turned twenty-one, I spent more on booze in one night than passes through my fingers in a year. Maybe even longer.
When I was thirty-one, I owned three houses and six cars.
At thirty-two, I lost it all. One stupid move and I lost everything I had. Everything.
This morning, I woke up under the pier, wrapped in a city-issued blanket. As it turns out, owning the world means nothing when you’re stupid enough to piss it all away...