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Hundred. It was written by the man of war. Right in the jungle of chasing. Chasing women to the call. Always. Always always rugged. Mr. Lasisi. (Mr. Lasisi of I AM LASISI .COM). Stay tuned!
Not because you were a fool, but because you wasn’t paying attention. And you wasn’t paying attention because you were being nut. You were being sent further away from solutions. What you could cherished, you didn’t make it count.
I knew. And everyone knew. When you have a single problem. Before you knew what was happening, you might have lost the whole damn thing. Money! It is the root of all evil. But let me have it, before you could come out with such a shit. If it weren’t for money, you think anyone would be here? Fool.
I raised my phone up. Called my manager. Trying to figure out exactly what was happening. Because it’s getting late now, and I haven’t heard of Jane. Gonna got to be a big deal. Yeah! When you have a problem. Stop looking at it. Look for something else. And the pressure will ease off itself. Sounds like a paradox. All the way back. Always in reverse. I love that feeling. Never forget the power of a beautiful woman. They can make your life count. Always make it a less harder. Easier than you could have ever imagined.
I knew I was in a deep shit. But looking all around me, I’m happy with the people I have. Even though they were are stupid. Except a handful of them. I love them all. Experience has thought me something: never underestimate the power of having a wonderful people around you. People who are at least at your back. Even when they didn’t want to. They’re still gonna render some help. Cherished them.
My manager told me to relax. That Jane will soon arrived. No problem. I don’t have problem with that. Waiting was my hobby. Among all the crazy hobbies, waiting was my best. Because you weren’t experienced, you wouldn’t understand it. When chasing after women, be a calm statue. Uneasiness never get anything done. Except scattered the whole mess.
I checked what was in my pocket. It was a naira note. I got it on behalf of Jane. Getting a cup of coffee. Together with the woman you love. No problem. It wouldn’t be a end loose. Always better than the rest. Maybe or maybe not. Who knows. We might end up on her bed. Of course I didn’t have any. Bed or no bed. Mattress or no mattress. I wasn’t sleeping on any. I only slept on the floor. Right there in my room. No mattress. Just fucking carpet. Not even a yard of rug. I smirked. Badass, I thought. I was a badass.
In my experience, women never care about what you own. And if they care? Well, those who care never matter. And those who matter never care. It is always in a parable. Memory verse upon memory verse. Women don’t care. And there’s nothing you can say to convince me of that. Because you know what? Jane was my living prove. She never cared about anything. Only that feelings. That’s all she talked about.
And I’m taking this out. All because someone somewhere around there, really need my experience. Because they weren’t aware, that women doesn’t care about shit. As long as she loves you, you can be whatever the hell you want. Wear whatever the fuck you want. They’d still love you.
(See you @ the next post).