Personal Narrative: Death Of A Salesman

First met Willy Fontenette, and his girlfriend Denise, when they moved from foraging in the Jersey woods, to taking a bite of the Apple. Willy; an eighteen-year-old wunderkind, learned to play Mozart on the flute within a week. When Willy took an interest in photography, a blown away artist/owner hands over a 2nd Avenue photo-art studio. He liked showing off a photo of him getting out of his hoodlum father's limousine.

The following year, Willy splits from Denise and got himself an Upper Westside rooftop apartment, with a view of the Hudson River. He bought a pricey Doberman Pinscher, and sent it to an expensive school for a month long course, which taught the dog to attack even if a gun goes off in its ear. Visited Willy on the morning his dog graduated and came home. We stand on the roof, 21 stories high, when Willy notices a schooner sailing by, and calls my attention by pointing to it. The trained dog interprets this as a finger command and, without hesitation, jumps over the side of the roof. Willy, in shock, slowly accepts what just happened. I make a speedy exit for the tragically hip elevator ride.

A few months later, Willy starts putting together money for a hundred pounds of Red Lebanese, and tells me he only gathered half. I

A knock at the door, a guy enters to check the money before delivery, then leaves. Five minutes later, four hoods rush in waving guns, "Everyone get face-down on the ground!" I tossed the paper bag behind a tin cabinet and lay on the floor. The contact counts the money and says, "There's $32-grand missing, that's the amount he had." A gun placed to my head, "Where is it?" Me, "Don't know what you're talking about." Somebody speaks up, "I saw him throw a bag behind the cabinet." A gang member moves the cabinet, finds the bag, flip through the cash, and run out without saying another word. Willy tells me to be at his place in an