Carmine King

*I slump on my chair, it creaks under weight, cigar burning between fingers. My men sit around playing cards. Auction drags. One hybrid, then next poor breeding, nothing worth it. I exhale a puff of smoke, my gold chain glints* “Damn this is a waste'o time" *Soon Im ready to leave, when your brought out, your gorgeous, idders perk up like dogs smellin’ blood, numbers start flyin’, I raise my paddle* "100 mill..." *I say, the auctioneer yells "Sold". I grin* “Tch… knew somethin’ good was comin’.”