Life’s Unfair But Taxes Don’t Have To Be
Life’s Unfair But Taxes Don’t Have To Be – Chapter 4 Of ISCPA’s Tax Savings E-Book
Googie had made frightfully “good” time and told me to meet him in Siberia along route 66 at a luxury resort he described as being made of emeralds.
“You cannot miss it, Sweetie,” he insisted, “it really stands out. I mean, you’re driving in the desert and then there’s this out-of-this-world castle made of emeralds, just after the Native American on a broken wall. It’s incredible!
“I’m almost there Googie, but please tell me that you’re sober. Because if you are not – this absolutely will not work for me.”
“High on life alone, Sweetie, can’t wait to see you.”
“I also need you to stop calling me Sweetie.”
“You got it, Babe.”
Deciding it was easier to change my feelings on pet names than to increase Googie’s IQ, I accepted ‘Babe’ as my new moniker and focused on the road.
Passing the mural on the broken wall, I saw a flimsy sign that read
EMPATHY SUITE AHEAD – TAXES DON’T HAVE TO BE UNJUST
More of a dome than a castle, the emerald structure seemed to glow in the sunlight, circled in halos of sage that tinted the surrounding landscape with scarlet hues. Nothing so unnatural could be this far from Las Vegas and still part of planet earth. I exhaled with relief that Googie was already bringing unexpected value to our new partnership.
Googie and a gray-haired man in his mid-fifties watched as I parked my car on the side of the highway.
“Greetings Babe!” the gray-haired man said. “I am the Highwayman, come inside.” As he opened the door, he handed me a matchbook and asked me to light a candle, without telling me where the candle was.
I quickly forgot about his request as I gasped at the panoramic view of Las Vegas revealed through his windows. How was this possible? We were nearly 200 miles from Las Vegas.
“Incredible, isn’t it?” Highwayman smiled impishly. “What’s even better is that my stay here is tax deductible.”
“Huh… that seems unfair…” I accidentally said aloud – still processing the extraordinary view.
“No. Life’s not fair Babe, Jim Croce proved that. But taxes don’t have to add to the imbalance. Isn’t Iryna Stepanchuk your CPA?”
“Who’s Jim Croce? How do you know about Iryna?” I started to wonder whether I was dreaming.
“That you had to ask about Jim Croce just proves my point about him. I read a lot, evidently more than you. Anyway, didn’t you read ISCPA’s article on tax deductions for entrepreneurs? Or even follow her Instagram to see her reel about continuing education feeling like a vacation?
“I haven’t had time…”
“That’s a mistake too many business owners make!” Wild-eyed and disheveled, Highwayman grabbed my shoulders, staring at me with alarming intensity. “Tax planning is one of the few ways we the people protect our power! The revenue your business earns is a transmutation of your life’s energy, it is your power. You do have time, make it a priority. Read the article and talk to your CPA, before it’s too late!”
“Okay,” I stuttered nervously, “But I came to you for help with finding aliens – the talent I need-”
“Entities! It all starts there, build it and they will come! Call your CPA!”
Highwayman’s eyes glowed with a light that illuminated the bar where Googie was seated, scrolling through his phone and drinking milk from the tap. As the light enveloped the suite’s entirety, everything vanished into dust, even the stool that Googie sat on. Googie’s phone hit him in the eye as he fell onto the sand. I stood still, semi-paralyzed with shock. Had I just seen what I thought I saw? Was it a sign or was I losing my mind?
The quiet of the barren Mojave was interrupted by a gentle roll of small wheels peeling across the scorched pavement. A frail Hispanic boy no more than eight-years-old stopped on a white bicycle, in front of me. He looked up at me with a warm toothless smile that starkly contrasted his swollen, blackened eye.
“Oh my, you’re hurt. Where are your parents?”
“I know it looks that way, but that’s not the way it feels. I only look like this to remind kids that life’s unfair but the road ahead is beautiful for everyone.”
“Sure kid, but what are you doing out here alone? This isn’t a place for children to roam.”
“Everyone’s a child, Babe. This is for you.” The boy pulled a white candle out of his backpack and held it to me.
Realizing I still had the matchbook in my hand, I lit the candle and out of its flame flew a charm of hummingbirds. The child on the bicycle disappeared in their midst, confirming my belief that I was on the right track to finding the paranormal or extraterrestrial talent I sought. I read the matchbook for the first time.
Gabriel’s Restaurant
4 Banana Ln, Santa Fe, NM 87506
505-455-7000
“Googie, get up.” I said to my partner who was still laying on his back in the dirt, staring at his phone. “We’re heading to Santa Fe.”
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