Monday, December 5, 2011

It's monday and I continue to remain popular in Russia. Seriously, what's up with that? If you're reading this from  behind the iron curtain, drop me a line and give me a clue!

This is a little excerpt from a book I may or may not pursue. Pretty much all I've written thusfar, in fact, aside from the the various studies I do before starting anything. Perhaps I'll post the other pieces later. For now:

Andrew threw a paperback book down on the coffee table and put his feet up on it, letting little flecks of dried mud break off and land on the abused book.
“Why do they always write books about ridiculously poor people?” he asked to no one in particular. “It’s depressing and sad.”
“So are books about rich people,” Sam replied with a yawn. “Only difference is you don’t want to feel bad for them.”
Sam was currently kneeling on the floor across the room, where a sunbeam coming in through one of the high windows provided him with adequate light. He was a tall and muscular youth, in his early twenties. Light brown hair, hazel eyes, and an always clean-shaven jaw won him plenty of points with the ladies; though his wingman, Andrew, tended to hurt both their chances.
Andrew was rich, and not shy about it. His father owned countless major patents, which paid for a luxurious estate and everything he could ever want. But surprisingly, Andre wasn’t just a spoiled rich kid living off of dad’s money; since the age of about twelve he had been investing in the stock market, and while his father’s riches provided the seed money, by now he had actually amassed a sizable fortune of his own.
He had the stunning and somewhat creepy combination of black hair and sky-blue eyes. While Sam was muscular and handsome, Andrew sort of looked like a serial killer. It made their youthful misadventures always somewhat a challenge.
Andrew had never met his mother. His father had been quite the playboy in his youth, but Andrew was the only child he kept. He paid the mother a one-time fee to get lost, and Andrew was raised by a succession of nannies and caretakers.
Sam’s life story was not quite so spectacular. He was an orphan, and basically ‘hired’ to be Andrew’s best friend at the age of nine. The rich could buy anything, including orphans. In exchange for room, board, and admission to a fancy private school, Sam just had to do what little boys do.
Despite the somewhat awkward nature of their relationship, Sam and Andrew were actually fast friends. They had their disagreements and differences, but in the end the two would always stick together.
Growing up in the lap of luxury, Sam somehow had never acquired the same taste for fine things that Andrew enjoyed. It probably had something to do with his status as an employee, but he just didn’t want to be rich. He had much more in common with Andrew’s father, who basically bought the estate “because” and would be perfectly happy sleeping on a cot in the back of his lab.

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