Growing up, he had nothing. His family of ten was packed into a tiny ranch home. They shared beds. They took turns wearing donated clothes. They couldn’t travel as a family because they had only one car. They often had Sloppy Joes for dinner.
Now he sat alone in his magnificent, ocean-front house. He took a sip of Gaja Barbaresco, which always helped him digest filet mignon.
Through his sliding glass doors, from the beach below, came the happy cries of children playing. They reminded him of his childhood, when he was too young to know he had everything.
Now he sat alone in his magnificent, ocean-front house. He took a sip of Gaja Barbaresco, which always helped him digest filet mignon.
Through his sliding glass doors, from the beach below, came the happy cries of children playing. They reminded him of his childhood, when he was too young to know he had everything.
