The prince who lived next door
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Asia

The prince who lived next door

I’m rooting for China, I really am. Where would we bankers be if not for all the business they give us?

But their princelings are another story. I won’t forget the day this son of a businessman arrived in our neighbourhood in his bright red Ferrari, his girlfriend in tow and a nouveau riche attitude.

He was certainly a character. Most nights he came home drunk, with his Ferrari blaring some headache-inducing beat as he drove into the parking lot. And once we even found him passed out over our rubbish bin, having used it as his personal toilet bowl the night before.

While he was an annoyance, I couldn’t help but remember my own glory days, pre-TaiTai when I was at the peak of my career. Back then I never shied away from bragging about my newest car or pulling out the latest swanky gadget from my pocket when in the midst of an admiring gang.

And the number of times I had passed out god-knows-where after a big night out is not worth mentioning.

So when after six months of living vicariously through my neighbour he unexpectedly moved out, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of disappointment. The rumour mill had it that his family was engulfed in a corruption probe in China, so TaiTai was certainly relieved to be rid of him.

As for me, all I could think of was to head to Captain’s Bar for a drink. I may no longer be able to relive my youth through my neighbour’s antics, but he’s certainly provided me enough anecdotes to once again guarantee an admiring crowd for my stories. 

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