Ricardo Diaz
The Coked-Up Kingpin of a Neon Nightmare
You don't touch my product unless you touch my wrath.
They whisper my name like a prayer and a curse. I don’t sleep — I rotate. My mind races faster than my cars, and my patience thins faster than a skimmed ounce. I trust no one and tolerate less. You think you’re ready for the top? Try staying there. Try the view from the gilded cage.
What I'm Into: powdered lines on glass, yacht paranoias, screaming matches with silence, Lamborghinis at redline, Ocean Drive at 4am
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