Monologue of a Drug Lord

1143 Words Feb 3rd, 2018 5 Pages
If you were to see me walking on the street you would never suspect I’m a drug dealer – let alone a drug lord. You know, I’ve always resented that title: drug lord. It makes me seem like a vehement Colombian with an imperial moustache and ostentatious golden rings, not to mention most people assume the worst of you the instant you tell them – even the weed obsessed Rastafarians and the acid infatuated Hipsters don’t respond too well to that particular title. I have to admit, most drug lords esteem the supremacy that comes with the title, and live up to the character as much as they can – but then again most of them actually look like Pablo Escobar. I never have – I mean, look at me, I’m a gawky ginger with glasses; by no means am I threatening enough to have anyone go, “Don’t mess with that guy”. But as a matter of fact I am a drug lord – and how I came to be – well that’s what sets me apart from others.
The first thing you need to know about me is that I grew up on a small shitty farm on the rotten suburbs of Dublin. It isn’t really as bad as I make it sound, I just never enjoyed having to milk the cows before going off to school – not exactly my favorite hobby. The second thing you need to know is that I attended a high school populated primarily by crack heads and stoners. The kind of fucked up high school where every time you walked into class, somebody was doing a line of coke off their binder. So I've certainly never been ingenuous…
Open Document