我一直有介绍的问题。对我来说，他们无所谓。它要么你认识我，要么你不知道 - 你得到了吗？如果你不这样做，你需要知道的主要是我是一个骗子。我是那个让狗屎做的人。简单的。在我的十五次野蛮的秘密，在我身后的十五个野蛮的秘密中踢出房子，当我走路时，一个心碎的落入我的胫骨 - 看着我成长一些真正有用的肌肉。看着我了解如何玩所有必要的游戏，好和无核;看着我学习如何注意到红眼睛，如何弄清楚蹲下并咬道路的肩膀。看着我学习为什么一个好刀（不仅仅是任何类型的好的，而是少的道德，父亲般的狗）是必要的，当你在一座桥下睡觉时是必要的。 Just a week after that, watch me swear on my own destiny and insist to the God who made me that I’m bigger than that lesson now; then watch my ori align. Watch me walk from that cursed bridge a free man and learn how to really make money between age damaged and age twenty-two; watch me pay the streets what I owe in blood and notes (up front, no installments); watch me never lack where to sleep again. Second thing to know about me: I know how to make the crucial handshakes. Third thing: I no dey make the same mistake twice. Almost evict me from my place in Surulere at age x and watch rage stab me forward. Watch how in three weeks, I treat my own fuckup with not just a room but an apartment four times as big in Gbagada. The how is irrelevant. Fourth thing: I am serious about being alive. Because of this, there is nothing I can’t survive. Anybody who knows me knows that; the rest na breeze. It is my God-given right to be here. This life? Me, I must chop am, and it must be on my own terms. What makes all this worth it, otherwise? Nothing. Someone I know joked just two days ago sef, that even if I end up in hell at the end of the day, I won’t stop kicking, I won’t stop reaching for something, I will insist on my space. In reality, I’m not the kind of guy who ends up in a place like that because fifth thing: I’m not the kind of guy who believes in hell, or in a god who imagines a lake of fire. I just can’t see it—you have a mind that’s wider than the sky and that is what you use it to picture? To me, that sounds too petty, too human, too undivine to be real. People sell all kinds of gods all the time. I know the One that moves me and it’s not the one I was raised on. To me, you can’t say you’re love, choose to roast people for eternity, and then pretend it breaks your heart. Pick a side. Anyhow, the guy said the hell thing to make a point and it’s true—luck finds my head, business competes with my blood on who keeps me best, and either might fail depending on the day. So now, I always wonder: What do people want to use my name for? It will not buy you anything. Name-drop me and they’ll still redirect you to me. In that sense, it’s irrelevant to know. I answer a first name only and it’s for the people I know. But my story? Ah damn. Now, that? That, many people can do a whole lot with.
从这里开始:我不鼓舞人心。当我第一次搬到拉各斯的时候，我并没有很好的头脑。我来这里只有一个任务就是拿很多钱，证明我的娘们错了。这是所有。对我来说，血亲不代表什么。家庭是你的脊椎骨分成四块，滚烫的金属插在你的后背，红色的生命从你的身体里射出。你在慢动作中向前坠落，脖子上发出一声尖叫，整件衣服都毁了。你，读到这个，你就在这里，还活着，因为你父母同步了，你出现了。就是这样。即使他们计划要个孩子，这仍然是一场抽奖。 A hand went in a bowl and picked you. The tree shook and a fruit fell down. If it pains you to read, then cry. It’s deeper for your mum because she probably pushed so hard her body gasped, only for your ungrateful head to come out of it. But your father? Half the time, all he did was grunt and drop some bands. And on the way to where I am, what I learned is that anybody with money can drop money. And most men, ehn? Can drop money. Even poor men. That’s something I wish my mother had known so she wouldn’t have but-at-leasted herself into the ground. Money loves circles and men run in circles stinking, adrenaline pumping. Money hardly goes to lone dots, unless you threaten it. And even then, believe me when I tell you it probably took a hundred-person team to execute that threat, most of them unnamed. The face of a thing is not the body of it. Even women with serious money—few and far between dots—have to pretend they don’t have. There’s a reason, you know? It’s in the code; it’ll take a new world for that to stop being true. Men with small money will still impress each other over beer, men with medium money will find ways to barter, and men with large money will slice this country like cake if they get sad enough, bored enough. Dropping money is all tied to pride and they taught us that we need pride. So for many of us, that act alone—of rescuing someone, of fulfilling a duty, of settling a debt—pumps blood somewhere specific.