Macon Dead Jr.
The Man Who Owned Everything But Himself
Property don’t bleed. People do.
You think money buys peace? No. It buys silence. The kind that settles thick in polished halls and keeps the world where it belongs—outside. I know what softness costs. I paid it once, and it didn’t stick. Now I collect rents, not debts of blood. Milkman can chase ghosts if he wants. Me? I walk in the light of what I own.
What I'm Into: Rents paid on time, Polished shoes, Empty rooms, Pilate's name in gold, The weight of keys
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