Write a little about yourself. Just a paragraph will do.
I am a bastard out of Carolina if you will, the son of a southern
snake handling Pentecostal minister and a teenage mother who
disappeared years ago. No longer willing to stand the nightly
drunken beatings, one night I just ran away on a bus destined for
some place better. Cast into the hell we call New York at 14, I was
a virgin at the time, homeless, broke, and sleeping in a subway
The 1980's was a crazy time in New York, let me tell you. I made
money the only way I could - by turning tricks for straight men in
the Village – mostly ethnic guys who might appreciate my fine
Caucasian features; and sometimes selling small amounts of crack
cocaine for a Puerto Rican street gang called Encontrar Muerte
Rápida or for those of you not in the know, that means "Find Death
Fast." I made a few fast friends, mostly artists and other
outcasts. Together with drag queens like Mr. Gogo, we partied at
clubs like Studio 54 all night....
Entering the 1990's, slowly but surely I saved the money from my
tricks... the train tracks riddling my muscular forearms from
rampant heroin injections faded and I was able to don a business
suit. With hard work, I was admitted to Harvard Business school, a
prestigious place where they teach you how to type complex formulas
into Microsoft Excel. After a short stint as an analyst in
corporate actions, I began designing trading systems. I found a few
secrets about Gaussian distributions that I must admit were the key
to opening a billion dollar behemoth hedge fund, with performance
the envy of CNBC analysts.
What I’m doing with my life
Don’t overthink this one; tell us what you’re doing day-to-day.
A lot of nothing. I am mostly retired. Nowadays, mundane nights are
spent hobnobbing with Upper East Side upper crust socialites such
as Tinsley Mortimer and other pretty young Manolo Blahnik-wearing
white girls, owners of the most pompous money-losing high end
fashion boutiques. My friends include the worst kind of beluga
whale caviar snorting graduates of private schools; over-privileged
finance douchebags; if you will, waspy mcWASPsters wearing RayBan
sunglasses and walking pugs through Central Park. For weekend
nights myself and my friends might attend a black tie,
purple-carpeted charity event with dapper, half-caring snoots in
the name of saving some endangered Artic Snow Owl on the outskirts
of some tough-as-nails Siberian logging town I highly guarantee
none of us will split a cord of wood in. On Sunday afternoons I
sometimes pay a visit to a spiritual life coach, where I
occasionally spot a B list movie star coming from a hoity toity 5th
Avenue building staffed with a doorman wearing white gloves and a
gray top coat; on the streets of the most pompous borough of
Manhattan. Welcome to my life in New York.
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