I was never a fan of fortune cookies. I never like the taste, the shape, or even the nifty idea of someones fate being rolled up in a tiny piece of paper stuffed into a cookie. Regardless, I didn't want to be the only tool at work to not open the fortune cookie. Broke that shit and half and the fortune read: "For good advice, consult with your mother." I'm like wtf? Worse fortune ever. Even my boss laughed at me.
Instead of being bored out of mind this summer, I thought up of some hobbies I to take up. One of them was to save enough dough for a GSX. So I asked my mom if she'd allow me to cop a bike. Her answer: "Sure! .......... when I'm dead..." Pretty cold ma. I didn't take her answer seriously. I still thought about copping one, with or without her approval.
Then I remembered the accident one of my homies got into. Thinking back to how fucking painful and tore up he looked after crashing his crotch rocket, almost claiming his life. "Don't do it bro, it ain't worth it. If it weren't for my helmet, I wouldn't be here." It sure gives me seconds thoughts. Them lacerations, burns, and scars are so very not ballin.
Maybe I should just stick to ricing out the whip. Or become more proactive, join NYSC and up my supply of HGH and Powerbars. Shiet, who wants to do a box break with me? Just one more thing to add to my bucket list.
Holla atcha boy.
-J
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