Gentrify My Heart Day!
You're not the man you hoped you'd be. You've made your money from neighborhood gentrification. But at least you can say you're not just sitting back and letting the cash from a property pile up. You're the point man. You're the guy who goes out door to door, establishing long-term relationships over the course of three to six months, convincing homeowners to so sell to the venture groups you represent. You talk people into leaving their homes.
You're trying to be the happiest woman you can be. But juggling a full-time job, a full-time courseload at City College, and a nine-year old daughter makes you feel like you're one mis-stroke away from drowning. You have a home though. Not long after your ex abandoned the two of you, his mother died and with no will and no son around, you kept her home. The ex of course returned and you took him to court and you were awarded the home fair and square. And now some man wearing a suit he bought off the rack is asking you to sell.
"I fought for this home," you say. "My daughter has a home. Why would I give that up for money."
"If you invite me in," he said.
You invited him in and like everyone else on the block, he's paid you a visit twice a week on weeknights and once every Sunday afternoon. Unlike everyone else on the block, you two have been having the most wonderful sex ever since that third visit, when you stood up to throw him out, and he placed his hand on the mane of your hair draped in between your shoulderblades.
"I'm under contract to convince you and your neighbors to sell your property," you say.
"I'm going to do everything I can to hang on to my home," she said.
And then you roll around inside each other. And when you say goodbye each day, you go back to your canvassing to get signatures on contracts, and you bring cakes to your neighbors to sit them down and beg them not to sell.
Happy Gentrify My Heart Day!