All things being equal Joe wanted the best of both worlds. He buckled down to fight tooth and nail to have his cake and eat it too. The ball was in his court and he put his nose to the grindstone. There were those who said the whole thing was out of the question, but he would not dance to their tune. In the small hours, Joe often locked horns with his conscience and made mountains out of molehills, but there was no sense in beating a dead horse, it was water under the bridge, the die had been cast. Getting cold feet now would make the bottom fall out. He had spun a good yarn. He never let the situation come to a head and always waited for the dust to settle before making hay while the sun shines. He was on the right track to blazing a new trail and those who said he was biting off more than he could chew were just not seeing the forest for the trees. He would go the extra mile and never dial it back. At this stage of the game all he had to do was put his best foot forward and at the eleventh hour he would be holding all the aces. Time was on his side.
He was all ears when he heard through the grapevine that someone had been cooking the books, and it spread like wildfire before all hell broke loose. He was running against the clock, this could blow up in his face.
They put him on the spot, accused him of taking them for a ride and turned up the heat. He knew there was no paper trail, they couldn’t catch him red-handed. But he had an escape goat, that fat cat born with a silver spoon in his mouth, who was now dead as a doornail in the middle of nowhere. The fat cat was a bundle of nerves and broke down in tears before he bit the dust. But Joe was on the horns of a dilemma, he was faced with a catch 22 and had to rub him out. It was a no brainer that the fat cat would have spilled the beans, Joe had bet on the wrong horse for a partner.
Now, between a rock and a hard place, he had the oldest trick on the book up his sleeve. He would pull a fast one and grease these guys’ palms so they say he’s on the level. It would be a tall story, and it would cost him a pretty penny, but you can’t make omelets without breaking some eggs. The jig was up and Joe couldn’t keep his ill gotten gains. He wasn’t all brawn and no brain, he knew you can’t take two bites at the cherry and that the brass ring comes around only once, so he vowed to turn a new leaf. After all -touch wood- it’s best not to push one’s luck and run while the going is good.
Todas as coisas sendo iguais José queria o melhor dos dois mundos. Ele se afivelou para baixo para lutar com dente e unha para ter o seu bolo e comê-lo também. A bola estava no seu pátio e ele pôs seu nariz na amoladeira. Haviam aqueles que diziam que a coisa inteira estava fora de questão, mas ele não dançaria com a música deles. Nas horas pequenas, José costumava travar os chifres com sua consciência e transformar colinas de toupeiras em montanhas, mas não tinha sentido nenhum em espancar um cavalo morto, era água debaixo da ponte, o dado tinha sido jogado. Pegar pés frios agora faria o fundo cair. Ele tinha tecido um bom fio. Ele nunca deixava a situação vir a uma cabeça e sempre esperava a poeira se acalmar antes de fazer feno enquanto o sol brilha. Ele estava na pista certa para queimar uma nova trilha e os que disseram que ele estava mordendo mais do que podia mastigar simplesmente não estavam vendo a floresta por causa das árvores. Ele queria ir um quilômetro a mais que o necessário e nunca diminuir o volume. Neste estágio do jogo a única coisa que ele tinha que fazer era botar o seu melhor pé para frente e na décima-primeira hora ele estaria segurando todos os azes. O tempo estava do lado dele.
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