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I went from Damien Ross, a rising coffee entrepreneur to a complete franchise. Ross Gold is still a mega hit online and in retail stores, generating six figures in revenue just within the last year. It’s the cookie butter espresso. My newest flavor that’s hit coffee addicts like crack in the eighties.

Which makes the official flavor name I went with more sensible. Breakfast Ecstasy. My distributor moves like two hundred packs of the shit to me every week. Most of it gets pushed to the streets where my young homies on the team pass out samples in multiple neighborhoods, enticing more buyers. Samples move sales, as my Mom always says. She’s not wrong either. For the last two months, it’s pushed profit up thirty five percent.

I still owe Destiny a seafood boil for running the idea my way in the first place.

So, referring to myself as a pretty busy nigga is a greater understatement than saying Shaq is tall. Especially with me also being the owner of my first physical location, Ross Gold Cafe. The perfect safe space for the Black community to enjoy coffee, blended teas, pound cake, and

neo-soul. Lord knows it took forever to get here. At least it feels like it. With all the setbacks and bullshit I had to endure before finally hearing the big yes.

I found a vacant spot over on 56th and Silver Spring that used to be an old pharmacy. Big enough to fit about fifteen to twenty guests at a time. Nothing too crazy, but hell, we all start somewhere. Pops helped secure the deal, seeing as the location isn’t too far from my parents' neighborhood.

Which ultimately made it the best choice, even if it wasn’t the first choice. It still works to my advantage. Keeping my business in my backyard maintains a consistent connection to the Black consumer. My favorite type. Whereas most coffee shops stay in the suburbs. According to prior research, there’s up to two hundred or so coffee shops in Wisconsin still frequenting the metro

area. Nothing wrong with that. I get it. But that’s what really gets my mind running from a business standpoint.

What about the local Black college student preparing for an exam? The Black mother looking for a place to take her kids in between errands? Or the local Black entrepreneur searching for a close spot to finish paperwork or facilitate a meeting. That’s the benefit of Ross Gold Cafe’s location. Easy access to great, affordable coffee for my people. I’m all about giving back to my people.

Plus, being so close to home means less need to travel around the entire city. It’s a decision I don’t regret in the slightest. It’s only been a few months since we opened for business. Ironically, not too long after making things official with Morgan. Yet, it’s been surviving pretty well amongst my competitors. With a recent Best New Local Business award from the MKE Shepherd Express further backing my claim. That’s not to say I’m surprised by the success. Hell, I expected it. Talent, patience, and discipline brought me here. Lord knows I wouldn’t be shit without either. I just need more.

Which leads me to my next goal. Expansion through technology. Why just stop at a physical location? I need an app too. One that allows for people to order from the location, whether through direct order or pre-order. Then, I’ll employ a bunch of couriers to handle the deliveries. My mother’s been showing me apps to start the process, seeing as she’s always been good with computers. Something that she apparently passed down to little sis more than me.

If- no, when I have my way, Ross Gold Cafe will be everywhere in the city. In every hood. In every mall. Which eventually transitions into even larger locations on my own lot. It’s not enough to enjoy a slice of the pie. I want and deserve the whole fuckin’ thing. That’s just who I am. I vowed to make sure my wife and future children are taken care of forever. I’ll stop at nothing to make sure that’s the case.

Or die trying.

The thought of it consumes my mind like a shroom’s trip. Because that’s all it really is currently. A mere fantastical manifestation inside Ecstasy Island. But in reality, Morgan’s poking me in the gut with a finger. Trying desperately to get my attention.

“Big Daddy, take the blunt.”

I pull it from her using my thumb and pointer finger, “My bad.”

“You’re good, baby.” She’s exhausted, probably ten seconds from being out for the count.

“It’s all yours. Finish it off.”

She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I make sweet love to the blunt, hitting it until it’s nothing but ash. Like at the end of any session, movement doesn’t happen right away. Who can think about moving when the room is fuckin’ spinning? I’m seeing stars in front of me, forming into weird ass shapes. I feel like I’ve been injected with Novocain in every part of my body. After the feeling returns, to my legs at least, we all leave the mess of Ecstasy Island to head into our master bedroom. I figure it can be cleaned up in the morning. Maybe a little after.

Not even two minutes after the bedroom door closes, we all collapse on the bed. Miami’s on the left, I’m on the right. Morgan’s square in the middle, gleefully sandwiched between us. The next time I look at either woman, they’re both knocked out and snoring. Which leaves me and my rampant thoughts. Surprisingly. Usually having a woman’s warmth pressed against my skin would have me comatose too. Especially after a blunt. I’m just so focused on the future, my eyes won’t stay closed. Every time sleep feels near, something wakes me right back up.

I toss and turn so long, a nigga just gives up on sleep altogether. My throat’s drier than county jail bread anyway. Sleep can wait. After a yawn, I roll past the temporarily lifeless arms of the ladies and climb off the bed. Neither of them notice. It’ll take a hurricane to wake them. Maybe even an Earthquake. Using my hands as a guide, I put on some shorts and stumble like a zombie into the hallway. My phone’s flashlight leads the way through the darkness and into the kitchen. The light switch is flipped upwards, releasing a bright light that briefly blinds me. Once my eyes adjust, I pace around, looking for a reason to even be in there. Making some coffee is my first thought, guaranteeing at least another two hours of restlessness. But, aye, at least some work would get done. I’m halfway to the cabinet to grab a bag before changing my mind, settling on bottled water instead.

Opening the fridge, the lack of bottles left is a slick reminder to make a grocery store run in the morning. I have a few hours to spare before checking in on the shop; it’s no problem. Morgan has

a busy day ahead already. I’ll take the load off her. With the water in my hand, I’m on my way back to the bedroom, only to collide with the woman in question as she stumbles in. Our bodies smack together like two football players on opposite ends of the field. I quickly catch her in my hands, returning her to a steady form. She’s once again in her robe, barely caring to have it closed. As if I'd ever complain about that.

“Oops! Well, you just run me over why don’t you,” she wisecracks with her usual sass, rubbing her affected shoulder. I do the same, massaging her until any soreness disappears.

“My bad, my bad,” I place my right hand under her chin, kissing her forehead, “You crept up like a cat.”

“Well, it’s hard to sleep when my human pillow isn’t next to me,” she pokes me on the chest, her reddish eyes full of worry, “You good in here?”

“Yeah, I’ve just got a lot on my brain, is all.”

“You always do, Dame,” she stops to laugh, “Always so business minded. You really drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Well, your man…”

She cuts me off, flashing her ring, “Husband.”