Boxcars (2)

But while you're here, I guess you have enough time for me to tell my story. Fuck, if you're here, then time is about all you do have. So, where do I begin? Umm.

So I had this friend named Steven. Steven was my best friend through high school -- a few years later, he basically became my pimp. If I am the Mike Tyson of monopoly, then that motherfucker is Don King. Steven had a way with words. Really.

And by the way, I've never bitten anyone's ear off over a game of monopoly. Actually though,

Nevermind. I'm getting too ahead of myself already.

This all started in Central Park. In New York, of course. Steven stood on a bench, with his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting at everyone walking by. He was trying to get another game started. That's the way we would do things -- he would bait people into playing me for cash, and before they could Pass Go four times, the round was over. They'd give me the money. Rinse and repeat. We didn't make a ton of cash out of it, but it was a great way to spend weekends. It beats working at a fucking Sbarro's.

And one Saturday, this guy walks up to me. He didn't want to play or anything though. He was in a suit, he had a briefcase. He looked like a total douchebag actually. But he stood next to me, and he didn't say anything until I looked up at him. When I did, he gave some broken-ass smile, and through a hollow, raspy voice, he said "I've heard a great deal about you, Jason." He handed me a business card, I took it, and he left. Well, I think he left. I looked at the business card, and when I looked up, he was gone. It was like a shitty noir movie. Anyways, I couldn't help but laugh at the card.

And before I tell you what the card said his name was, I want to make this clear: what you've heard about it is bullshit. If you own that space on the board, you will not automatically win. I don't know who made that shit up.

The card read:

Marvin S. Gardens
Recruitment Manager