Hustle or die

When I roll up in a car that costs more than a house, people ask, "Bro, what do you do?"

My answer is always the same: "I hustle, baby!"

And then I howl at the moon. I always know where the moon is.

Hustle or die is my creed. Sure, I was cursed by jinn to hustle non-stop or literally disintegrate into sand, but do I look like I mind? Do I look sad and pathetic to you? You cursed the wrong guy, jinn. I love this!

Hustle is my legacy. Eight hours of sleep is for people who are satisfied with whatever the world gives them. You are still picking the crust from your eyes when I'm at my desk. That's why investors bet on me, and they always win. Do you know what that means?

I get paid.

Fortune favors me because I put in the work. When I roll up for a date, I drive a Rolls. When I suit up for the board, I wear an Amosu. I'm not some coffee-junkie-email-answering checklist monkey. I do the important work that brings in the cash. That's why I have penthouses in New York and L.A. and a timeshare in New Mexico - hey, look, we all make mistakes. And that, my friend, is the only way in which you are like me.

Hang on -  my doorbell is ringing. It's probably my food. I don't cook because, and I can't stress this enough, I don't do things that don't matter. So when I open the door, I am... stunned.

She wears an old Dodgers jersey, dirty from sweat and food deliveries. Her long brown hair is pulled back under an equally worn matching ballcap. Her olive cheeks are flushed from carrying food throughout the building. She is, without a doubt, the most beautiful food delivery person I've ever seen. Person. Food. Woman. There it is. Most beautiful woman I've ever seen. What is happening to me?

Then she smiles at me, and I smile back.

"Hi," she says, and I smile back.

She hands over my food wrapped in a large brown paper bag. Then she says, "You're not wearing pants."

And I remembered that I had forgotten to put on pants. Hustlers don't always have time for pants. She laughs as I hide behind the door.

"I'm Toby," I say, for the first time in my life, never wanting a conversation with a food delivery person to end.

"I know," she admits, "It's on your order."

"Right," I say, and then my big stupid mind goes blank.

She rescues me, "I'm Anna."

"Anna," I repeat. Then, just as I do, I feel my grip on the door handle waver, and I look down to see my hand dissolving into sand and pooling on the floor. I am not ready to die, not by a long shot, certainly not now that Anna is here.

I have to think fast. "You want to come work for me, Anna?"

"Sure," she says.

Ahhwooo!

Then she put in the work, baby! She joined the four am club and became the consummate protege. I taught her everything I knew about the game. My experience was hers to plunder. Within two years, her net worth nearly equaled mine. We became a dynamic power couple that others hated but could not ignore - closers, investors, board members, and industry titans. Then, in time, husband and wife.

It was two years before I noticed the drug use—first a few pills from her purse and then harder stuff in hidden spots around the house. She said she needed a little boost to get through the day from time to time. She wondered how I stayed clean on the schedule we kept. She couldn't know that I had no choice. I begged her to stop, throw it away, and promised to carry her work until she was ready.

To her credit, she cleaned herself up. I continued to do what I did best, only with twice the workload. I crushed it. God, I'm amazing. And so is Anna. Recovery led her to new interests like painting, cooking, and dancing. She even booked us a bungalow in the tropics and left garments around the house, little promises of future nights together. I declined the trip but promised we would do something soon. It was still exciting to see how creative, spontaneous, and sexy she could be. Perhaps she always was, before the hustle, before me.

Then, out of the blue, she announced her return to work.

I used to think we had this pull towards each other, a gravity with just enough force to keep us tethered and grounded. But, seeing her hunched over a laptop again revealed the truth. My force was too strong. I was crushing her. So I packed our bags, and we left for the tropical bungalow that night.

I had no idea how long I'd have. I made the flight over and every possible break as productive as possible to stave off the curse. We spent the most beautiful day together. Anna spoke of her love for charity and all that she hoped to give to the world before her time was up. She whispered secrets from her heart as we danced on the beach and then took me to bed. I could not have lived a better last day than that.

I watch her sleep until the sun comes up.

My eyesight has nearly failed, but I still can see her wake up. Her eyes are a green yellow-gold, like an autumn forest hanging on to the last days of Summer. Her beauty is ancient and new. I silently wish that she had cursed me first. She smiles at me before getting a good look—the sunlight beams through the cracks in my nearly disintegrated body.

I am still here when she screams.

Everything goes black. I think about the deal I made with the jinn. Was it worth it? Did I matter?

The last thing I hear is her coughing on the dust from my body's collapse.

Hustle or die, baby. Guess I'll die.