Just as The-Dream steps out of his pearl Mercedes convertible in front of the home he owns on a wooded corner lot in the toney Buckhead section of Atlanta, a white lunatic leaps from the shrubbery. He bounds toward the Grammy-winning, multi-platinum artist with blank eyes and a toothy grin. The-Dream hardly seems bothered as the maniac bears down on him. This could be because this particular lunatic’s name is Louis, The-Dream’s rather large, slightly poofy poodle, who is clearly enjoying the fruits of his master’s labor. As Louis discovers, apparently for the first time, that the young holly trees lining the property do not actually prevent him from gallivanting through the neighbor’s yard, The-Dream steps out of one car to throw his golf clubs in the back of another, a husky Range Rover, also in lustrous pearl.
Drake is on the Range’s radio, but it was Little Richard in the Benz, with Dream singing along enthusiastically all the way. There is a shaded slate pool in the backyard, yet another pearly luxury car in the driveway—a Porsche for his personal assistant—and a motorcycle in the two-car garage. But The-Dream’s most telling acquisition is the empty foundation in the adjacent lot. He recently bought the plot after a war of attrition with its previous owner (who also sold The-Dream his house) that ultimately ended in a half-price recession sale. The-Dream gladly paid him in cash and has plans for a second adjoined house for his growing family. The-Dream pays everyone in cash. In fact, he has a hard time explaining to potential sellers of things he wants to buy that he doesn’t have bad credit, he just doesn’t have good credit because he never pays for anything he can’t pay for in full. Everything you see around The-Dream, or hear him on for that matter, The-Dream owns, which is startling when you consider the implications.