September 17, 2011 at 8:48 PM
2 December
Yesterday a man approached me about a game. It would be fun, he promised. He would show me that my reluctance was misplaced, and perhaps, even a bit childish. I am not a man for games; I simply do not have the time. There are much better ways to pass the day, and the thought of dragging metal toys across a slab of fold out cardboard nauseates me.
“You win,” I told him. I was even willing to kick in a few bucks just so he would leave me alone.
“It’s one of a kind,” he promised.
Cognizant of the eyes upon me, I relented, and took a seat opposite him. Since I was new in town, I did not want to make myself out to be more of a prick than was already suspected, so I entertained the old geezer and his endless prattle.
“I could be home right now,” I thought to myself as we took turns dividing up our armies and placing them on the board. When not composing I can be found pouring over my archives, or acquiring a new skill. The thought of playing a board game was absurd at best, yet here I found myself.
My mind wandered from the game at hand to the sandy white beaches of my vacation home in Napili. I had made an investment years ago for a condo overlooking the ocean for the astronomical price of $195,000 in the late ‘80s. I had only purchased it because I knew I could rent it out the other fifty weeks of the year while I was away. After the first six months the condo began paying for itself and providing extra cash for my annual visit. Twelve years later property values skyrocketed and my humble two-bedroom two-bath condo with lanai peaked at $1.2 million.
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