If you do the math, you'll see that it’s not such a bargain.

Forty-odd. That's a better innings than Mozart's thirty-five. Only a moderate knock perhaps in an era brimming with space age technology, and transplants, and artificial hips etcet, but still higher than Mozart's.

“I’m promoting you, dawg. I’m planning an early retirement, and I gotta know that my business is in good hands. I worked hard to get shit to this point, yo. You think you could handle being the boss one day?” “Muthafuckin’ right,” Smurf said beating his chest. “I’m ready to do whatever is asked of me for the team.” “That’s why I fuck with you, Smurf,” Dink said with a sly smile.

She died only a few years after her profession.