Everybody respects money. Nobody cares where the money comes from, as long as its money.
Everybody respects money. Older ones go silent when their younger ones speak. The illiterate millionaire gets a seat before the broke man doused in degrees. Most importantly, everybody wants their children to be like you. Nobody cares where the money comes from, as long as its money. I have a flourishing business, a house on the island, a few dream cars, and I’m only twenty-seven and I don’t rap or play soccer.
My SUV had pulled a surprise and decided it wanted a visit to the mechanic’s so I had to cancel my meeting. As my mechanic got to work on the car, I decided to take a quick nap by sitting and burying my head on the table in his shed.
Just before I could fall asleep, I heard a man come into the shed as he greeted the people present. I didn’t raise my head still.
“Who owns this car?” he asked when he noticed the car.
“That man,” the mechanic said as I imagined him pointing at me.
“”This young man? Wow.”
Then he began to tell stories people tell when they see money they respect. He talked about how robbers had broken into his home and killed his first son, carting away millions he had intended to execute a contract with before ending his talk with a prayer.
“I pray my younger son is successful like this young man.”
When the mechanic was done and I stood up to take my leave, I walked towards the fifty-something year old man to greet him. As we shook hands, I could tell he was impressed and full of respect. Perhaps, he wouldn’t have been so impressed if he knew he was shaking hands with the murderer of his son and the man who carted away his millions.
Fuad Lawal is a poet and copy writer. He blogs at rebelliousflash300.wordpress.com. Follow him on Twitter @RebelliousXIV
READ: ‘The Whore from the North East’ by Fu’ad Lawal
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