Court Side
Unbelievable, I’m 212 yards from a 30-foot path of 18-inch tiles that have just been paraded by the big chief, boss of all bosses. They must not who I am! “Soy hija de un estafador!” I am the daughter of a hustler, Marii Jane. Someone must have blown a gasket if they are thinking that this is over. If it was not Sunday and I did not have courtside seats at the American Arena for the Miami Heat I probably would lose my cool.
No sweat at all. No sweat all. I’ve been thru this before. The nerve to think that you can play me. He must not of received the memo that I’m destined for greatness. It’s already been 10 minutes. This is unacceptable. My patience is more than acceptable. I am first-rate, first-class, just marvelous. And I’m only talking about one strand of my super-excellent hair.
I can’t lie; the water behind blended with the light breeze and sunshine plays the sweetest melodies in my ear. I feel as one with the world in moments like this. The reflections of the sun on the jewels express luxuriance and so does my unique and special tattoos.
Here this guy comes. I’m going to look the other way and pay him no mind for now. “Miss Marii Jane, you won’t believe what happened. I am sorry to keep you waiting for so long but I have found your phone. I accidently placed it in my coat. It’s something about these HTC’s. Are you ready to travel? The tip off will be any minute,” says the newly hired driver. Marii Jane sighs and says to herself I love being a boss. Money changes everything.