Tuesday, October 12, 1999

 

Not sure why I'm doing this. I read somewhere that keeping a journal helps you focus and organize your life, and, well things have felt a little unfocused lately, so here I am. I'll see how it goes. Not sure how to start, so I'll just start by describing my day. It was a day like any other day. Woke up around 9 or 10. No reason to get up any earlier than that.

 

 

Always start the day with a good shower and some breakfast. Cleanliness and nutrition. Even when I was a kid, I knew that was important. But back then, I didn't always have running water or food, so I took it when I could get it. Now that I have an abundance of both, I don't take either for granted.

 

 

Today was cardio day, so after breakfast, I went on a nice little run. Put in three miles. Nothing crazy. Just enough to maintain. Then I sat down for my favorite pastime.

 

 

And I checked on the garden.

 

 

Then Anton came by to re-up. I'll save details about my dealings with the Russian for some other entry. Needless to say, I had what he needed.

 

 

Naomi came by, too. She's one of the girls that dances at my club. She was out of weed, and I could help with that, too.

 

 

That girl is banging. I think she's the only girl working at Picante right now that I haven't got down with. I have got to do something about that. Shit, now that I'm putting that down in words, I should probably check with one of my bros who understands this shit about how to put a password on this journal, or whatever. Don't want Elisa reading this shit. Elisa is my girl, for the record. We've been together for a while. She's wearing my ring, and everything, but I really don't want to pull the trigger quite yet. I like living alone. And so far, she seems satisfied waiting for me. I'll talk more about her in future entries, I'm sure.

 

Anyway, Picante opens at 5, so I got there early, checked the place out, did some cleaning. Made sure the sound system was working top notch. Busted a few moves.

 

 

Maybe I should explain some for the record. Picante is my club. It's just down the street from my crib on Ridgeline Drive, in fact. But, as you can imagine, a guy like me, I'm not from Ridgeline Drive. I grew up in Bridgeview. Little Santiago, they call it, on account of all the Galicians that moved in after the Irish and Italians fled to the suburbs, although not everyone was from Galicia. We have a few families that come from over the border in northern Portugal, too. My family is 100% Galicia, though. Papa from Vigo, Mama from Corunna. It's not exactly a high class neighborhood. Some run down housing, a project that's falling apart, and a shitty little park where you can shoot hoops, get high, and get your dick sucked all in one night. So once I started making my money, I got out. I found it convenient to move onto Ridgeline, since my club was already there.

 

Picante is the perfect setup for a guy like me. It offers a place for my girls to work safely. In fact, it employs a big chunk of Little Santiago. Add all the kids running product for me, and I still own that neighborhood, even after I got out. But Picante is the headquarters. The girls either turn tricks for me, or just work as above board dancers. A couple of the local guys I grew up with do maintenance. I pay them well and keep them stocked on weed, so they're happy.

 

 

And it makes me enough legit dough that I can use the place to clean up the money I get from my usual rackets. Plus, as you might have guessed, there's nothing I like better than a tight little senorita with big tits and a round ass, so even if I didn't own the joint, I'd still probably hang out there.

 

 

And since I do own the joint, there are other benefits, too. Tonight, I was talking with Camila when I started feeling the usual desires build up in me. Camila isn't actually Galician, or even Portuguese. She and her roommate are actually Mexican, the only two Mexicans working at Picante (her roommate doesn't dance; she tends the bar). Most of these rich, fat white motherfuckers that come in here can't tell the difference. We're all Mexicans to them. But the locals can tell. She doesn't get any grief, though. She's still popular. For good reason.

 

 

And since she works for me, I get to sample the goods whenever I want. And tonight, I wanted.

 

 

So that was my day. Got up. Maintained myself and my business. Made some money. Enjoyed some time at the club. Busted a big nut. That's pretty much every day for me.

 

Signing off for now.

 

Pedro