So, every couple of months I like to have a big payday blow out.
I buy a new shirt, beg and plead to get on the guest list at the club and hire a limo with a couple of the guys from the gym.
All night we’re like VIPs, people see us and they think we’re reality stars or cagefighters or something. It’s unreal.
Everyone gets a drink, or a tip, a pat on the back, or they want us to pose with them for a selfie.
Like I said, we’re like celebrities. It’s insane.
Anyway, we have this big night out and we must spend every penny we have, because I started doing this maybe five years ago and that’s around the time I had to move back to my friend Dominic’s parents.
I moved in with them after my own folks left the country, they don’t cook for me like Mom and Dad did, but I don’t pay them any rent and they don’t seem to mind.
I’m a big deal that one night, the center of attention, the main event.
Then I’m back to eating hotdogs without a bun for the next six to eight weeks.
Sometimes I can steal some ramen from Dominic’s folks, usually they keep it locked up.
I got real sick a while back, I thought I’d never be able to go near a goddamn hotdog again, I could taste them all day, smell them coming out of me all day like I was using one as a suppository.
I had a week or two on protein bars, and then I was back on the hotdogs.
I was salivating like crazy when I opened the tin, drool was literally flooding out my mouth like a burst riverbank. I ate the dogs and everything was okay, my tolerance was way up.
So, whatever, I thought you’d like to see what a big shot eats when he’s not jumping to the front of the queue or doing shots with internet models.
Write some stupid shit about that.
A letter from Frank, direct from Dominic’s parents’ basement.