Personal Narrative Essay: Being The Richest Man In My Life

“Being the richest man in the cemetery doesn't matter to me. Going to bed at night saying we've done something wonderful, that's what matters to me.” That’s Mr. Hernandez’s favorite saying. Fernando Hernandez is one of the most opulent tycoon in the universe, but also he is humble and serene. He is currently working for Apple. Fernando is about 6’4, 200 pounds, bulged with muscles from Rugby. Ever since when he was 11, he wondered a way to have a better opportunity communicating with people. So, he started making phone. For him, being one the richest man wasn’t a delightful thing, because people thought Fernando was a selfish, egocentric person. But the truth was that he liked to share his money with impoverished people. Anyways, today, June

“Yeah yeah yeah, pretty good. I’ve got a new batch of weed in, and kid, I’m sure you’ll like this.” he said.
“Yeah?” I took a sniff from the bag he handed me and placed five 10 notes into his hand. I gave an approving nod. Well, I honestly did not care how it smelt, but it was terrible. That was not for me anyway; that was to be for my customers, but I could not be telling him this. Snakebite drove back around the corner and dropped me off, leaving me clutching the bag. I stuffed it into my coat pocket and walked home. ***
“Well, I don’t think drug-dealing seems hard. This is an amazing idea, now I could probably become wealthy again,” he answered. They start working on massive weed plantation.
“Yes, and by the way there’s a tremendous group of gangs in this neighborhood. One’s called the The Unseen, and the other one’s called Disciplined Vipers. They are both dangerous, but since you're the owner of Apple they will consider about dealing with you,” said Antonio, “so first, we sell in large quantities for discounts, and as they get sold each time, we make the price increase, so we can turn a profit. We measure it using scales, and price it either in comparison to other

“Dad, do you want to hear another story?” Asked Antonio.
“Yes, tell me about it.” ***
I told one person I knew about the drug dealing, and this was my good and closest friend Lucas. He was also terminally ill. I told him during second period at school, the day after I picked up off Snakebite.
“Dude, we should definitely smoke some of that weed. We need to make sure it’s okay to sell,” he said.
“Nah man, no getting high off my supply. I’m keeping my personal weed and my weed to sell separate.”
“Fine, I could just really do with a toke today.”
The sun came out that day, so I decided to make an exception. We sat on the field behind school, passing a joint between us. We smoked and talked as the sun blazed down on us, progressively getting higher as the joint burned down to nothing but the roach. The greenness of the grass and the blueness of the sky make for a perfect scene to be nostalgic over. We were both comfortably high, talking about how the National Geographic had gotten worse over the last few years, then the state of the music industry, then why we thought the sky was blue: something to do with molecules, Lucas was sure. Then conversation turned towards my drug dealing. Lucas and I were both equally excited for it, and we spoke about it for a number of hours, replenishing our highness with another joint, again