nicodem zakonczenie 1. | CBD1 FIN

There's something powerful about being in another man's clothes.

When you don't grow up wealthy in a place like District One, where almost everyone is wealthy, you desperately want it. I used to ask my mom and dad every day why we couldn't just have more money. My dad would do one of those stupid magic tricks where a quarter gets stuck in my ear but it magically reappears on the other end. "If we could just have more money, Nicodem, don't you think I would've made this a million dollars instead of twenty-five cents?" Fair enough. They made enough money to keep food on the table, keep me in the career academies, and rent our two-bed-one-bath cottage by the lake. My parents told me that if I wanted a kingdom of my own on a seven-digit salary, I should go out and get a job. Live in someone else's skin if I want it so bad. That's the thing about jaded adults, though. They say something so degraded that they don't think you'll do it. I'll bite.

Kids play in their kingdoms of pillow and blanket forts like they're standing on the holy grounds of gold and grit, but most of them never know how to climb the real ladder. I've found it quite easy.

Rich people pay to have pretty things. And no, I don't mean that in any romantic sense of the word. I'm the house-sitter, the maintenance worker, and the pool boy. Did I have experience with any of those things when I first started out… no! Mistakes from a seemingly hollow mind can be forgiven if you've got a nice face. Dazzling eyes, tidy hair combed to perfection, and a nice shirt or two go a long way.

And when they're out somewhere toasting glasses of champagne to their white-collar friends, I'm the man of the house, the king for a day, the rich fuck I should've always been.