If I Won the Lottery
If I won the lottery I would buy a horrible little house in a nice road. And all the neighbours would wish I did the place up, their gleaming frontage reflecting rundown.
I would take all my friends on holiday ONCE. Somewhere nice like Crete or Bogota. We'd rent cars and I'd promise to have them returned to the rental place but forget to.
I'd fly to a distant coral reef see a new kind of god in the beauty of it. I would tidy away my crisp packets and beer cans and leave them tied neatly in a nearby palm tree.
I'd pay my friends to pursue their art. I'd become fragile and suspicious that their abstract pieces were veiled attacks on my new wealth. I'd continue to fund them, allowing the critics to pick up on this subtext and praise my cool detachment and self-assuredness.
I'd enter the lottery again, using my newly discovered talent to win a second time, maybe a third.
My basement would be stocked with the incredible wines, I would enjoy them in a few years when my taste had matured.
I would employ a personal shopper, they would style me and my home. I would look good for the first time ever. They would probably dress me in clean white shirts and striking hats. They would put an enormous mirror in my small bedroom.
I'd pay farmers a nominal fee to disassemble their family barns, tear down their own fences. I would gracefully repurpose these boards as gorgeous reclaimed tables and chairs for my restaurant.
My restaurant where I would ensure they're menu was to my exact specifications. I would spend millions keeping it afloat as the public proves its palate is underdeveloped after all.
I would build a library of beautiful books and spend at least a good fifteen minutes there an evening.
I would have dreams and then persue them.