"Just then Sam walked by. "Call me Sam, Momma Benson. There is nothing any good here to eat. I'm going across the hall to say hey to Spencer and see w...at is in his fridge." Wait up. I'll come with you." Freddie told her as she headed out the door. "We'll be back." He told his mother.Sam knocked on the door. "Yo Spencer. Open up!" She yelled.Spencer opened the door to see Sam and Freddie standing in front of him."Hey k**s! What brings you here? Come in, come in." We flew in to tell my mom. She carefully pulled back some bark to reveal a hole. From the hole, she plucked a vial. She led me back to my house, pushed me in a chair and went to the kitchen. She came back in a minute with a soda.“Drink,” she commanded. I pushed the button on my digital watch to start the stop watch portion. “Drink,” she said again. I looked at her blank expression as I drank. Then, she said, “OK. I am finished.”I pushed my stop watch again. Five minutes had elapsed. “No way!” I thought, but it showed. I stopped and he threw up again. He was hanging out the door and said he was stuck. Teri said she would get him back in the car. She went to the back door on my side and pulled him back in. She leaned over him and closed the door. I drove off again. Mike is so big he barely fit in the back seat. He put his head against his door and put his feet up on Teri’s lap. She looked at me and laughed. While driving Mike started snoring, and knowing how much my wife likes to check out guys’ packages I. Life was, again, bliss. Chas (not his real name) was making his mark early as an investment banker and I was successful landing three patrons who commissioned pieces of my work (almost unheard of for such a young artist). After about 7 years, we moved back to New York when Chas got a shot at a principal role in a new hedge fund. This is where my story really begins to take shape. What I’m about to describe is way too close to the stereotype that many people hold about high-flying Wall Street.