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Hi.
Sparky’s the
name.
OK, it’s my
nickname.
I don’t give my regular name out in public. Never know who
can look up your address and knock on your door. That’s what
happened to Boulis, ya know. I mean, you don’t see the owner of
Burger King running around talking about Whoppers.
Konstantinos “Gus” Boulis, on the other hand, was like, “Hey, I’m
Gus Boulis. I own Miami Subs and I own a casino cruise line.
Not bad
for a Greek immigrant. I don’t even have an American citizenship.
Look at me!” And then, bada-bing! The state goes after his ass for
owning a gambling cruise line without having a citizenship, he’s
forced to sell to Americans who happen to be sleezy lobbyists with
mob connections, and poor Gus ends up getting hemmed in on some
street in North Miami long enough for a schmo named John Gurino to
shoot him up close — close enough to mess up his suit, to paraphrase
Sonny from The Godfather.
Bada-bing!
So I
don’t give out my name. Just call myself Sparky when I go to the
slots and the poker tables at the Seminole Casino. I’m a
professional gambler. Make a living out of it — that and selling
items in Pompano that happen to fall off trucks.
And maybe some land
speculation in Palm Beach.
But mostly gambling.
Anyway, SunPost
gets word about my reputation and my knack for writing (haikus
mostly), and the next thing I know I’m enlisted to do intros for
their Best Of. They were all like, “Please Mr. Sparky, would you
write the introduction for our ‘Best Of’ issue?” And I was like, “I
dunno.” And they were like saying, “Pleeeeease. Only you can do it,
Sparky. Man, you are a high roller.” And I was like, “OK, I’ll do it
for 10 cents a word.”
And then they got all quiet.
Anyway, I don’t
hear from them for a while. Then, I made the mistake of betting five
large on the Pistons and, damn their hide, they lost to this pissant
team from Miami. (Hey, I don’t want to hear it! I was born in
Michigan and I don’t live in Miami. I live in Pompano Beach. Broward
is an advanced civilization compared to Miami-Dade County. More on
that later.)
So, anyway a couple of weeks go by and my bookie is
like, “Hey, where’s my friggin’ money?” Pardon my French. And he
said, “Look, I don’t want to have to hurt ya.” So, I make a quick
deal with the SunPost. Long and short of it, I now have to
write five out of six introductory spiels (not doing the the Real
Estate advertorial — conflict of interest) for crap money. I mean
real crap money. I ain’t even gonna tell you how low. OK, here’s
a hint: 4-year-old Malaysian kids make more money making shoes in a
factory than I get doing this. But I gotta do this because I don’t
know any Southeast Asian-run factories for me to work in around here
and my fingers are too fat to work those sewing machines.
Continued
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