By Hunter Bonaparte Fifteen years ago I never would’ve imagined owning a dump like this. Everyone here would’ve been a cog in my master plan. I did everything right: the right schools, the right friends, the right parents, the right girlfriends. Everyone had their expectations so high and I wouldn’t have blamed them. My job was going to be something big, demanding. I would sit in a chair double my size with my feet up on a mahogany desk built by some kids I’ll never meet other than through my paycheck. Goldman Sachs, the White House, Mr. C-E-O... my job is to chop wood.
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2017-2018
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