Town Talk? Check.
Myron? Check.
Bob Dean? Check.
Ro? Check.
Cleco? Check.
FEMA, Rodney. Check, check.
Taylor Thompson. Check.
Damn I look good in that pic. Will Smith was aiight, but the Fresh Prince doesn't know what it's like to battle these zombies at city hall. He wouldn't know the first thing about handling Bridgett or Ed. Mess with Jacques, you get the horns. Just ask Charles Frederick Smith or my latest project, Ro. If I say you sit the pee, you damn better sit the pee. Aiight, bitch?
Who else could claim not one, but two downtown hotels deals? Cap One vs. Jacques the Vote? 'Bout to be Cap Done. Cleco? Did they seriously think they had a prayer? Please. Hey, Cleco, news flash - I run the Town Talk, bitches. I was toying with you the whole time. Paul Carty's my wind-up doll. I own this town. Dinkins, Bloomberg and Trump in one package.
I wonder, does Will Smith feel uneasy with his greatness? I know how uncomfortable I can be with myself at times. It's weird. Like I'm watching myself. I can only imagine how uneasy others feel around me. Crutch has been avoiding me since 2007 and Bobblehead isn't available for lunch anymore. Just the pressure of working with genius, I guess. It's a lonely life.
Why me? Why was
I given these gifts? Why was
I given the burden of saving this city? Why not one of my brothers? Everyday, the answer is there, staring back at me in the mirror. Greatness just is. I am Jacques Roy. I am Legend.
