you could be a star

You could be a star. Write the next great American novel, start a six figure business, be a life coach and a coach to life coaches, get in on the creator fund, YouTube, tiktok, a podcast, substack. You could fly to Paris for meetings, sip espresso and smoke cigs at cafes. Get that bag and the bags and the shoes and the glowing skin and the cherry red nails. Winter in the Bahamas and summer in the Hamptoms. Be on tv. 6 million followers. And even more in your bank. You could have a mansion with a pool, a sauna, a steam room, a cottage for a weekend getaway. Fly first class and sign book deals and photographs. You could be at the top of your game.

Okay, but first, I gotta start the coffee, slice slabs of sourdough for buttered toast, pour some kibble in the bowl. Wash the dishes, sweep the dog hair off the floor. Lounge on the sofa in my underwear. Put the kettle on for late morning tea. Make a tuna sandwich for my lover and me. We might hit the park and shoot some hoops, come home and watch tv. Then, I swear, I’ll start hustling. First I just need to make my special chicken dinner with the good olives and a sprinkle of parsley. Open the mail and pay off the monthly fees. When I’m done with my bath and drink my fennel tea, plan some outfits for my work week (jeans and hoodies). Give the pup a little head pat, have a snuggle and drift off to sleep. What was it that you were saying about living the dream?

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