The lanky, semi-disheveled guy sifting through the Dumpster caught my eye. “Hey man, don’t suppose you could help me out?” he said half-heartedly. We talked for maybe 10 seconds while I pulled out my wallet and gave him $2.
What he did next truly surprised me.
I had a guy. At least, on paper I had a guy. That’s what you need, right? A financial advisor. Money gets taken out of your account every month, goes into the money-making market machine in the way your guy determined was best for you and BOOM, one day you can retire. Living the new American Dream. I probably should have put some emphasis on “Dream.”
I was living the “dream” back in August 2014 Continue reading