Living the Life

He step off the plane, his own plane, twin-engine Learjet, The rain runs off his flat-brim as he glances up at the sky, the clouds And with a glance at his wrist watch he follows his escort, ignoring the camera and lightning flashes, since he can hardly tell the difference anymore His representative shoos the 'razzi away, And he wipes the rain from his sunglasses realising he really doesn't need them but would die for fashion He hates how his wet jeans stick to his shins as he scuffs his Piloti shoes on the airport's carpets, someone tries to get an autograph but can't make eye-contact with him He casts and apologetic glance backward to his fan, and she will never forget the glance he forgets a second later He clinks with the chains on his neck and at his belt and at his wrists colliding, Securtiy watches him curiously, some knowing who he is, some vaguely aware, and he smiles, knowing that once he's done they'll know his face, the one pinned up on walls everywhere, on newspapers, magazines, The face with the chocolate skin, vanilla teeth and sensual eyes, He absently adjusts his A-Town hat as he gets into his Murcielago, His bull Lamborghini humming lovingly under his touch, Paparazzi left behind, security saying the crowd needs to disperse, fans enthusiastically shouting "I love you!" He wonders how his kids back home are faring, daddy's always gone, and mama always misses him so much, He finds his phone and calls home one hand on six-hundred thousand dollars worth of car another on the ohone with the priceless sound of his children back home.