You live in a fantasy world, obviously, and I somewhat envy you that.
When I first met you I thought you were a very successful video producer. You had tons of nice equipment all over your new house and seem to have hundreds of friends. It was only later than I found out that you were just a drug dealer with a very developed hobby. Still, you insisted on playing the professional and I helped you on many productions that you ultimately torpedoed with your apparent attention deficit disorder, assholeness and non-existent work ethic.
Being associated with you has black-listed me in this town. You don't give a shit and why should you? You still have your booming illegal drug trade to keep you afloat as you pretend to be something you clearly are not. I almost feel sorry for you...almost.
One of these days you are going to quit selling drugs/get busted and your little fantasy world is going to come crashing down around you. Those hundreds of friends? Gone. They were just customers who tolerated you for however long it took you to weigh up a bag, obviously.
It makes me sad thinking about that inevitability. Maybe it was the neediness I felt when I would come over and hang out. I don't do drugs so I must have seemed like a real friend to you, not just someone wanting to score. The way you would show me all your new gear like a child on Christmas day, eyes all bright...
Sad, just sad.
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