Tuesday, December 18, 2012
"Can I get a Guinness and a Shot a' Makers ..."
"Can I get a Guinness and a Shot a' Makers ..." My New York accent is thick... Ima' last of da' Mohicans in this joint; in many joints in NYC these dayz... The rich are swallowing my city whole keed' ; it worries me sick to my stomach ... The Half King is my spot, although I rarely see another mofo' that looks like me in this place. I met the ambassador to the US of Venezuela here once though ... He was cool, talked up a storm. The bartender is this young , tattooed goddess with a welcoming manner. Daniel knows me by name although I've only met her three, four times. I know, I know its her job but I like to imagine I'm different in her eyes. Had dinner with some dear friends in Hells Kitchen ... A little Peruvian cuisine... Thought I'd introduce my Scandinavian friends to a taste of a little South America; they loved it as I suspected ... It's a Tuesday, near midnight during the holiday season, the place is packed and cheerful ... I'm alone, stopping for "one mo" like those that love the drink do. At a loss of the written word for a while ... Put my pad down for a minute ... Take a swig of the Makers, wash it down with my Guinness ... Clench my teeth, they thump from the heat of the alcohol , like a heart beat. Cash is runnin' low these days , but somehow I manage the boozin' and the eatin'... Somehow I'm flush on the cusp of havin' rabbit ears ... Somehow , somehow brah'... I check my balance on my bank app frequently ! Damn ! A second swig finishes my shot ... I gulp it with a deep breath , exhale through my nostrils ... The buzz of the patrons continue and continue and I plug away ...
Thursday, October 25, 2012
What's in a Name ??
My brother lives a Stop away from the train I need to take
to get home. Tonight, instead of
hopping on the Train where he lives only to have to transfer at the next
station, I decided I’d walk the 9, 10 minutes to that Stop. It’s a charming October night and
besides, I love the fall. I enjoy the
feel and sound of my feet stepping over the fresh, autumn leaves that litter
the ground. I like the threat of
winter the wind carries this time of year. On the way, parallel to Queens Boulevard is the Queens
Criminal Court House. It’s the
very same courthouse where the three Detectives accused of shooting Sean Bell
were acquitted in 2008. Anyway,
when I walk, I stare and study all the buildings in my path even If I’ve seen
them a thousand times. I'm not
sure what goes on in other cities but here, criminal defense attorney offices
prop up like weeds, very close to criminal courthouses like bodegas near
Projects. There are dozens of them. They have neon signs on their storefront windows that mesmerizingly
blink, Lawyer / Abogado. One of the storefronts in particular caught my
eye. It’s directly across from the
courthouse. The sign on its
storefront window reads in huge red and green letters, Schwed & Zucker... Puzzled
I thought, why would anybody facing prison, hire attorneys with names that look
and sound like, Screwed & Sucker ?? Those two words carry multiple
meanings, one for outside prison walls and one for in them. Think about it.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Hereafter
There are social
moments I observe in the hood in which I have applied the term, The Butterfly
Effect or the Ripple in the Pond Effect.
Moments in which small occurrences result in eventual chaos
or negative consequences.
At 6 pm this evening I slowly walk my sweaty body through the NY heat and humidity back to the block. Just returning from a vicious workout, I’m feeling pretty good. My thoughts are all over the place as usual; my family and friends, politics, what my drunken a$$ got myself in to this past weekend…hahaha the usual…
At 6 pm this evening I slowly walk my sweaty body through the NY heat and humidity back to the block. Just returning from a vicious workout, I’m feeling pretty good. My thoughts are all over the place as usual; my family and friends, politics, what my drunken a$$ got myself in to this past weekend…hahaha the usual…
My thoughts
break when I observe a late 20’s to early 30’s young woman, not THAT young,
take the wrapper of the Twinkie or Ding-Dong she was about to scarf down and
casually discard it on the community grounds, as if the world was her garbage can. She’s ignoring a teenage girl
that follows her annoyingly calling out, “Mom, Mom! Mommy!!.” The mom wobbles her obese body up the
ramp of her building as she eats her wrapper-less, high fructose corn syrup
treat that she washes down with a 16 oz Pepsi. The teenage girl, no more
than 14, is dressed extremely provocatively, in tiny cut off jean shorts and a
shirt that exposes her entire core.
Her shirt barely covers her developing upper body; a visual disturbance
to the decent person and a delight to the deviant. The visual and sounds of the moment fade away as I enter the
yard. Four dope-fiends pass me,
talking and laughing in raspy voices about what they were gonna’ do and how
they were gonna’ do it. I continue
walking forward and witness a woman yelling obscenities at her tiny, stunned
toddler from a bench. On the left
of me is a very young brother, counting a knot of money in his hands the size
of a Chihuahua. I enter my building,
and wait patiently for the elevator.
As I wait, a young brother shows up at the magnetic door with his two
small kids. The elevator door
opens and I get in. The young
brother was struggling with the key and couldn't open the door. You gotta’ wiggle that thing a bit, it takes practice. He struggled enough for me to decide to
race over and hit the button that releases the door. He doesn’t Thank Me.
I race back to the elevator before the doors close and hold them open
for the brother and his two toddlers. He doesn’t Thank Me. When the doors open, a few floors
before mine, I speak, “Have a good night brother.”
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Alligator
Number 1
Lieutenant is arguing with Number 2 Lieutenant in a tent after a failed
reconnaissance mission in where a 17 year old soldier was just killed. Number 1 Lieutenant chucks a personal
Item of the young soldier who just died at Number 2 Lieutenant and says, “ You got him killed
today…” Number 2 Lieutenant, in a
mellow, numb voice says. “This is war, many have died…” Number 1 Lieutenant, “Is this how you made 1st
Lieutenant from Private in 2 years??”
Number 2 Lieutenant, “I guess it is. I did what I had to do.” Number 1 Lieutenant is interrupted from his next set of
angry, disgusted words by a tiny voice. An orphaned 6 year old girl and her 7 year old brother have entered the tent.
They seem to be having a bit of an argument as well. They’re both dressed in raggedy, dirty
clothes. Children of War. They live in the temporary camp / base with the soldiers. Despite what she’s
wearing, she’s still beautiful.
She’s got short black hair, big brown eyes and has lost her two front
teeth as children her age do. A casualty of war, her Left, little arm has been amputated just below the elbow.
“Excuse me?.” She says.
“Excuse me?.” In her baby voice.
She demonstrates her stump and says to the Lieutenants. “Isn’t it true that my arm will grow
back when I grow up??” Her brother,
“It will not grow back, It will not! Her, “It will grow back, it will…” Lieutenant Number 2 breaks in to a
long, loud, crazy, hysterical laugh.
Number 1 Lieutenant stares at him in disbelief. Number 2 Lieutenant says to the 6 year
old, orphaned child with the raggedy clothes and her missing limb in a crazy, humorous voice. Her big brown eyes begin to swell with
tears. “Look. What do you think
you are, a Lizard? He continues his laugh. “It will never grow back. Arms don’t grow back.
You’ll be armless till you die, you little freak!” Number one Lieutenant loses it and begins punching him in
the face as the baby runs away crying, wailing that it isn’t true. Number two Lieutenant doesn’t fight
back, takes the beating. A
beating he craved...
Scene Ends.
The Front Line - Hangul: 고지전 Gojijeon - 2011
The Front Line - Hangul: 고지전 Gojijeon - 2011
Sunday, July 29, 2012
DRAGO
I left my Iphone on top of the trunk of my brothers Maxima while I dug through my gym bag
looking for the car key. Accidently left it
there and got in the car, slowly backed up out of the parking garage and in to the
street. Honest mistake, the phone is just as black as the car. Pealed off (after I saw it
was safe, no pedestrians in the way) like Ryan Gosling in Drive. I didn't realize until I hit Hillside
Avenue that it was missing!! Pulled
over and frantically looked for it... Nothin'!! I panicked, thoughts racing trough my head; 500 bucks for a
replacement, how will I be able to annoy all of the FB crowd with my political
comments, locations of the many bars and restaurants I frequent, and
photographs of the food I've eaten!
I whipped around like Christian Bale in his bat man motorcycle, raced
across Hillside, banged a left on Queens Boulevard until I peeled in to the
Garage as the automatic garage door was still opening. The sound of the brakes screeched,
opened the door the car is still running... I dug through the seats, the front and back, the floor,
NOTHIN!. I turn my attention to
the garage floor, look all around, look under the car, hope I didn't run it
over... "F@CK!!!" I SCREAM, my word
echos through the Garage. I park
the goddamn car, frustratingly grab my bag, scream "F@CK!!" again a couple of
times, find my brothers keys and run in to his apartment. The f@cker isn't there!! I needed his phone to call my
phone. I empty the contents of my
gym bag, look in every crevice, seems like It has a thousand little pockets,
NOTHIN'!! My brother doesn't have
a Land Line, I mean who does these day.
I start looking around in his bedroom and find his work blackberry,
AHA!! GODAMN IT! I begin to dial
the number on the thing. The
numbers are so small that I had to redial two or three times before It
works. Three rings and a dude that
sounds like Drago from Rocky IV picks up.
A wave of relief falls over me but still have a hint of
anxiousness. “Hello.” Drago
says. I swear he sounds just like
him. Me, Yeah, how you doin’… Uhhm
You find my phone?? Drago, “Well,
if you're calling it this is your phone.”
Not a hint of friendliness in his tone. Sounds really shady. I’m keeping my cool but I’m suspicious. My mind begins to race again. ICloud, I could call the police, track
the phone and get his ass, he can’t be too far. Me, “ So where can I pick it up.” Drago, “Where are you?” Me, “I’m on 84th Drive or I
can meet you; what ever works…”
Drago, “Give me your exact location and I’ll come and drop it off right
now.” I give him the address but I’m suspicious. Maybe
he’s planning an escape route, a way to totally avoid me.. DAMN! A few minutes pass. I’m looking up and down the street,
NOTHIN! I’m contemplating calling
him again... A few seconds later I
hear a couple of honks… I turn
around and a brand new Black E Class Mercedes Benz is double parked in front of
my brothers building. I
apprehensively approach the vehicle and look for his eyes; It’s him, Drago. He roles down the Window
and hands me my phone. He’s
bespectacled and is dressed like he’s about to go play golf. He smiles at me when he hands me my
phone. I'm thinkin' SWEEEEETTT! Drago, “What kind of
car to you drive??” Me, Well, A
2012 Maxima Sport. It’s not mine
though, It’s my brothers. Drago,
“Man, when you peeled off, I saw an object fly off the back of it and hit the
ground like a pin-ball.”
Remarkably, It was perfectly intact but a tiny crack on the top right of
the phone and I don’t keep a rubber cover on it. I shook his hand firmly, thanked him for returning my phone, and explained that I didn’t want to insult him with a tip, I mean he was
driving an 80 thousand dollar car.
He smiled assuringly and drove off.
Friday, July 13, 2012
SOAP
“You catch that motherfucker that snitched??.” Says this older
man in his late 60’s, not a hair on his head, built like a bull, to the friend
I’m having a conversation with; his name is 5 Stars. The old man doesn’t acknowledge me although he broke my
conversation, his piercing grey eyes directed at 5 Stars. “Nah, I heard he’s doing a bid.” says
Five Stars. Older man, “If you end
up doin’ a stretch because of that piece of shit make sure you get some pay
back. You may end up in the same
prison with da' motherfucka’” 5
Stars, “Believe me I will...” Older
man. “This is what you do if you see em’.
Get two socks fill it up with a couple of bars of soap, any kind of
soap. Get it soft, mash it up and
let it sit in a corner. Wait a
day, and the fuckin’ thing will turn in to a fuckin’ BBBBRRRick! (emphasis on
the B and R).” The old man is as
serious as a heart attack. He
still hasn’t acknowledged me. He
continues. “Get that motherfucka’
in the showers. You hit him over
the head with that shit, Pa’ng! (Spanish slang to describe a blow) and he’s
done." Throw the sock where you
dropped him and before you know it, some other motherfucka’ will pick up the
sock discover the soap and he’s got some soap, hahahaha.” 5 Stars, “I was just gonna’ beat the
motherfucka’ up regula’, but I gotchoo’”
He gives 5 Stars a pound, doesn’t look at me once although I was staring
at him and hanging off his every word.
The old man walks away laughing. “Soap motherfucka’, soap!.”
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Funk
"I
live for the funk ..." I listen... Nothin' but Hip-Hop playin' in thjs
joint... I'm the only hood....Williamsburg. The bartender is this pretty little
thing from Philly... Her family is Palestinian. She has tattoos on the inside
of her little fingers. Some are already faded, though she's younger than me,
I'm 37. My Makers is full.. She's 28... I think I'm in love....
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Missed Call
Mami'... Just saw your missed call from dayz’ ago... That
three in the morning drunk call... Sorry I missed it. I'd have enjoyed insanely removing
your clothes as we savagely kissed on the way to my bed. ( Porque, porque te'
casaste'! ) Make love, and that's what it was. It was what it
was... No more.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Joop
I
walk in to PRET, get my morning coffee and I make my way to the counter… The
young girl behind the register gets a whiff of my cologne and says; all flirty
eyes… “Are you wearing Joop??” I said, "Yeah, been' wearing it for
years..." Girl, "My father wears that…" TOMA! She thanked me for
the pleasant, scented reminder… Turns out her dad's three years older than me…
This is my life…
Native NY Bike Messenger Vs. Hipster Bicycle Dude
Traffic
comes roaring down 9th Avenue as the lights turn green. Leading the
Charge of the pack of automobiles is a Hipster on his fixed gear bike. At
the same exact moment a Native New York City Bike Messenger is heading West up
26th street. It’s the middle of the day. I cross calmly heading
East, Down These Mean Streets as the pack comes closer and closer. A
collision seems inevitable between the two. Neither wants to give way. NYC
continues his charge; hipster wobbles but successfully avoids the hit. Three
words are exchanged. NYC bike messenger dude, turns his head and yells, "Fagot!!". Hipster Bicycle dude, far enough up 9th where its safe,
the cars act as his body-guards, turns his torso all the way around and yells
back, "You're welcome!!" I continue my walk West.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
A Good Life
6th Ave, in the 20's is especially dark around 7:30, 8pm...
It's somewhat commercial; vibrant with shoppers and commuters of the evening
rush... They walk up and down the Ave... Among the crowd an old, heavy, golden
retriever makes his way. Reminded me of Mr. Snuffleupagus from Sesame Street,
except for this guy is gold. He's limping terribly, he's arthritic, but still
makes a slight attempt to acknowledge a feisty Papillon revealing a twinkle in
his eyes as if he was a pup again. He's got very little time, I can tell by the
concerned look on his owners face. He looks like he's lived a good life, fighting
on through that crowd... He wants to live…
On a Stage
One late night... I'm walking through my projects on my way to
my Moms'... The park is empty save for an old friend and his girlfriend... I've
never seen her before... I walk past... I wanna' say "whatup' B" (I
haven't seen him in a minute; he just came home from a bid) and hesitate to get
his attention... They're arguing but the look in their eyes is of the kind a
parent dreads... Drug fueled.. The street lamp highlighted them in the darkness
as if they were on a stage... He looking directly at her, diagonally 6 feet
away, eyes glazed as if his mother just died, yelling belligerently, leaving
his mouth open between his yell; cold in his breath, saliva dripped from his bottom
lip... She, hands folded, shoulders shrugged, a paranoid look in her glazed
eyes, staring in a distant opposite direction...lost... My old friend who I
played pool with, who I shared countless laughs with....caught in that all too
familiar disastrous web…
Friday, June 8, 2012
The MTA
New York City
Transit. The train is at a standstill. An apparent important message over the
PA system is to be announced. The MTA, "Attention, attention." The
commuters stand at attention. They stop reading, headphones are removed, chit
chatter has stopped to listen to this important announcement. "The next
stop, inaudible, inaudible, inaudible." The MTA continues. "The next
stop, inaudible, inaudible, inaudible. Thank You for riding the MTA." An
entire subway station filled with perplexed faces. Nobody knows nothin'...
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Street Smart Eyes
Returning from the Yankees game tonight (we
won...so happy the f@@@ing millionaires win another one)… A family affair if you will. Saw the game with my old boss who I Love as
if my dad. My best friend Chino was
there too; we're practically brothers. Took the D from 161st and got off on 7th
Ave, not realizing the E was out of GODDAMN service after 10 p.m. on weekdays
this week. Took me a minute before I
noticed the flyer taped to the station pillars. I decide to walk. 53rd to 23rd... Aint' that bad on a warm night… I stop at my
buddy's bar on 47th street in route. He
just happened to be there. We shoot the
shit for a while... I pound a Guinness
and a Makers. It’s a work night and it’s
nearly midnight; it is time to go home. I hail a cab and get dropped off on the block.
Put my bounce on, my New Era is low, the
brim is crisp; the collar of my corduroy sports jacket popped, rockin’ fresh,
Grey and brown SB Dunks... The Yard is silent. Come across this early forty’s brother… He
looks jail house, been in prison more than once tough… His cornrows are banged-up, a feminine
looking fella strategically walkin' behind him it seems. The feminine dude, holding flowers close to
his chest like a bride’s maid... Drugged out kid... Cornrow says to me… (he
thinks I'm a hustler) "What up Par’..." I say nothin' but look at his
eyes with my experienced, street smart eyes, and continue my bounce...
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Summer Love
“Maria!
MARIA!! Come hea’… come hea’.” A little boy shouts, with a concerned look on
his face at who is apparently his girlfriend. He’s no more than 10, 12 years
old. One foot on his scooter, is wearing an adult size snap-back, backwards.
His head is so small, that the snap of the hat is on its last button. The
apparent girlfriend is walking away slowly like if on a graduation procession,
but with no particular destination. She’s no more than 12 years old herself and
is wearing disturbingly tiny shorts, her hair up in a bun. It is clear she’s
upset. The girlfriend she is walking with responds for her, “She don’t want to
talk to you! She don’t want to you… DAMN!” The boy gets on his scooter and
begins to propel it as if he’s circling the wagons, never taking his eyes off
her and mumbling, “Aight’, aight’, aight’…” As I witnessed this, a memory hit
me like a warm summer breeze. I got my heart broken on that same particular
spot when I was around the same age. Her name was Jennifer and she was this
gorgeous little Boricua from 116th street. And 24, 25 years later, I come
across the same exact spot and some other little boy is getting his heart
stomped on… He’ll never forget it. Ahhh, summer love…
Swish
A dude... Mouth twisted, sucking on his teeth
like he just finished a meal... His eyes, a little above eye-level are staring
up Broadway; walking slowly as if not a care in the world. Dude is casually
wiping his IPhone clean on the sweater that covers his torso. Dude reaches the
corner as traffic whisks by... SLIP, his newly, wiped, clean IPhone drops
perfectly right in to a water filled gutter beneath him... No klink klank,
nothin'... Nothin' but a silent swish right in to the never, never land of that
gutter. His head down in silent disbelief and my observant eyes...
Shadows
Late last night in front of the PJ building I
grew up in, an old friend of mine, a little younger than me, steps out of the
shadows. His face obstructed slightly by the hood he wears, his cornrows meticulous.
The expression on his face, relaxed, somber and cautious. "What up
man," I say. A pound is given. I lay my forearms on the fence of the front
yard, signaling a chat, he does the same; my building behind me. We exchange
pleasantries. He tells me two friends we grew up with have fallen off the deep
end and are "using, buggin'-out kid. CRACK." Not a shocking exchange
of words, but upsetting nonetheless, we don't dwell on it for much. Two junkies
exit my building, one woman, one man; he turns his head and says to them,
"How was that? You like dat'..." The jukies, big smiles on their
faces, express their delight of the substance they just consumed in a
satisfactory tone, "Yeah that was good baby, that was good..."
He,"You know where its at then..." Turns around and seamlessly jumps
back in to conversation with me. We speak of his children and family a bit
more. Although I find his profession repulsive, I don't judge nor preach; sh!t
is complex... We exchange another pound, along with a simultaneous warm, brotherly
embrace. I tell him how much I enjoy our conversations; bounce and disappear in
to my building.
Boyz II Men
Saw
a young brother on the train today, barely 30 I'd guess. He looked like a Power-forward; could easily touch the ceiling of a subway car and still have a bend in his arm. He began speaking to
us passengers about his hard times with his first step in to the car. Nervously swayed his arms as he talked. Announced that he was going
to entertain us was a rendition of "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye," by Boyz II
Men. He sang the song with a nervous swing of his arms, his eyes staring nervously at the ceiling of the subway car. I reached in to my pocked and pulled out a Buck before he finished his mediocre, awkward performance. When he was done, he gratefully shook hands with the folks with who held out a donation, looking deeply in to our eyes with genuine agony and appreciation. You could feel his
desperation in the touch of his warm, rough, meaty hands. It was heart
breaking…
Frantic!
Its 9:46 pm, On my way to my sisters in the BX... Gotta' go
downtown to go back uptown, the local stops from 23rd to 50th street are shut
down. Sittin' across from this Republican lookin' dude... Looks a bit drunk...
Suddenly he's frantic, takes out his wallet like he's lost something....digs in
likes he's going to pull out his money to count it, but instead pulls out his
wedding ring... Effortlessly puts it back on... Yawned...
Register Girl
Mira… Star Bucks register girl... Your story about your
toddler that you’re accentuating with fist to hand like your clapping is
creating a monstrous line here… You clearly just met this poor woman who is
painfully listening to your long, inappropriate, loud a$$ story while a
thousand of us wait in line with frustrated faces on… NO ONE!, (NADIE!) will
understand why you can’t understand, why babies touch other things than their
toys… It’s what babies do!!… Keep it movin’…
Wallet
Saturday
afternoon… On my way to NJ to go watch the fight with an old friend… I’m on the
E train. On 53rd and 5th an upper east side looking couple in there 40’s gets
on and they make there way towards me. He, designer jeans, cashmere sweater;
her, tall very elegant, wearing alligator slip on shoes, the kind with that
gold medallion. I’m at eye level with this woman’s neck, and I spot what can
only be described as a gigantic razor bump… Yuck! The hair that formed that
thing must the size of a Twizzler! Jesus! So I’m dressed pretty casually,
Yankees cap, baggy jeans, Force Ones.. Lookin’ pretty urban… I arrive at my
stop, and as the door opens I reach for my phone and simultaneously bump in to
Mr. Upper East Side in the process, and the F’er instantly reached to see if he
still had his wallet!! And I kept movin’…
Humanity
Whenever
I'm by Roosevelt I stop and have a couple of Grilled chicken tacos at a Taco
Stand under the 7 train, right outside the subway entrance. I order my tacos,
take a drink from a bucket outside the stand.. I eat them on a little corner of
a shelve in front of the window where they serve... I pay when I'm done, at the
pace that I've chosen without the slightest suspicion from the two young
Mexican girls inside the stand that I could easily bolt at anytime without
paying... It is a sense of community, of trust, extended to a complete stranger
that is lovely; normal amongst the poor...
Adolescent Love
Adolescent
love… Gotta’ sandwich at Subway’s today and while I was waiting I glanced over
and saw the googily eyes of a young catholic school girl all in love with her
teenage, moronic catholic school boyfriend who’s yelling across the Subway’s at
his boys… Then I remembered, I was that young, moronic boyfriend once… I must
admit, probably more moronic… Why, why do girls that age fall for the immature
moron?? The young teenage girls are clearly far more mature but every single
time, they fall for the moron. Morons who take them for granted, who ignore
them, and yell obscenities (kinda’ funny) at there boys across a packed
Subway’s instead of paying attention to the young, beautiful girl (who somehow
is oblivious to the stupidity and may even find it attractive) who sits inches
away and continues with the googily eyes… This is life…
No Shame but Shame
It’s lonely out, nearly desolate in this big city today... Its
light out...It's Christmas but the crack heads still gather in front of my
mothers building (that’s’ right, this is what its like; 10001, one of the
wealthiest zip codes on earth but these are the projects) like a flock of
pigeons... They wait for a pusher... They look desperate... They mistake me for
one... Used to that... I'm disgusted and express it on my face... It
translates... They give me way... There is Art in reality... I feel no shame…
This is life brother...
A Good Life
6th Ave, in the 20's is especially dark around 7:30, 8pm...
It's somewhat commercial; vibrant with shoppers and commuters of the evening
rush... They walk up and down the Ave... Among the crowd an old, heavy, golden
retriever makes his way. Reminded me of Mr. Snuffleupagus from Sesame Street,
except for this guy is gold. He's limping terribly, he's arthritic, but still
makes a slight attempt to acknowledge a feisty Papillon revealing a twinkle in
his eyes as if he was a pup again. He's got very little time, I can tell by the
concerned look on his owners face. He looks like he lived a good life fighting
on through that crowd... He wants to live…
King Of New York
Cougar
So
I'm heading home late in the evening from work on a crowded F train and I make
eye contact with a hot South American cougar (hope that's pc). A subtle flirt
begins to ensue; we're smiling, flirting and I glance down shyly at the floor
and notice what seems to be a big blob of dog crap on the tip of her boot...
Killed the whole moment for me...
Contact
On
a silent, crowded train where I was fortunate enough to have a seat, close my
eyes and listen to Bitches Brew in peace; I awakened and instantly made eye
contact with a middle aged woman picking her nose. It was awkward…
Female Kermit the Frog
I’m
minding my own business, sit down waiting for my sushi, moments later a girl,
mid to late 20’s sits across from me, so close I could touch her hand with out
stretching, to join her friend. Very close quarters in this place. Barley sits
down, she’s complaining about her boyfriend (she sounds like a female Kermit
the Frog)… Ohh we never have sex (kermit the frog, kermit the frog)… I don’t
understand it, I love to give “down south” (she says the real thing) jobs….In
my mind I’m thinking, “hey…female Kermit the frog, I’m sitting not 5 inches
from you…Just maybe , maybe if you didn’t sound like Kermit the frog, you
wouldn’t have this problem…” She’s afraid to break up with him, for fear of
meeting a guy like her friend who believed puppies hatch from eggs…(kermit the
frog, kermit the frog…) Ate my sushi quick, but not too quick to not seem
suspicious and got the hell outa’ there…
Snot Nose Kid
This
morning; on a crowded rush hour F train…. In my mind… Hey, very young mother.
Your toddler (I’d guess, a little over a year) is bouncing off the walls and
rubbing his head like a paint brush on the doors and this and that, and you
play with your smart phone. You think maybe it has something to do with that
big a$$, 12 ounce Capri Sun pouch he sucked down?? It’s 8am!! The dried up snot
on the kids face is obviously not a birth mark, wipe that sh!t off man… They
get off on Queens Bridge… Maybe he’ll be inspired one day and become a genius
like NAS… Ya’ never know…
ROCKY
My daily walk from the West side to the East side seemed
especially long today so I decided, F It! For the first time in my life I was
going to take a cab to work… I hail the first cab I see… Step in and the Eye Of
The Tiger is on… “Risin’ up back on the street, Did my time, took my chances…”
Awwwww sh!!!!t I’m having visions of jogging through the streets of
Philadelphia, shadow boxing in dirty grey sweats, black converse sneakers and a
black skully… The back of my sweater reads “Dominican Stallion..” The people
yell, “Hey Ralphie!!, (you know instead of Rocky) go get em’ champ!!” I shadow box
baby! And just as I’m about to make it to the top of the stairs of the
Philadelphia Museum of Art, the cab pulls over… Back to freagin’ work! Reality
stinks!
Immaculate
This
brother on the train, late 30's Puerto Rican cat, wearing a white Tank Top,
White Summer Kangol and a white Thermal around his neck all immaculate,
brilliantly clean. A pair of beat up black Chukkas and baggie blue jeans 90's
style. He's got random tattoos all over his arms that are the kind made with a
needle, thread and pen ink. He's sprawled out like he was in his living room.
He wakes up out if his slumber on the crowded F train I'm on. He looks
medicated. Stands up mumbling obscenities, and making Karate gestures with his
hands. The Dude: "Obscenity, obscenity, I should punch this, obscenity, obscenity..."
Stumbling across the moving train, he sits on the double seat, takes it over
and sprawls out again... The Dude: "Obscenity, obscenity", points
with his fingers shaped like a gun at a white yuppy (who was apparently
responsible for waking him out of his deep sleep) and says, pissed off in
crystal clear Hood English... "This NWORD just farted!..." Mumbled a
few more obscenities and fell asleep...
Moments later… The Rican wakes up. He stood up and while he’s
putting on his Thermal begins to talk in Spanish (that’s how I know he was PR)
to two South American (I think they may have been Peruvian) ladies, who I over
heard speaking Quechua, and probably didn’t speak a word of Spanish. The Dude,
belligerently speaks, “Mira, utedes son Ecuadorian no??” He laughs, mumbles
something that’s not understandable…The ladies, look at each other, whisper
something and giggle. He then spots a middle aged lady (who he refers to as Old
Lady) and simultaneously bypasses (genuinely unknowingly) a young lady who is
at least 8 months pregnant… She was standing no more than 3 inches from his
face and was considering sitting down. The Dude, “Mira, Old lady, Old lady,
come sit down, come sit down..” She ignores him… This annoys him and he
dismisses her with a wave of his hand… He looks worried and begins to wipe down
the seat he just had his feet on. The Dude, “Oh my god mami, (to the 8 Month
pregnant lady with an enormous belly who was standing right in front of him) I
didn’t see you mami, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry” as he wipes the seat down. The
Dude “Sit down, sit down…” Proceeded to say sorry at least 30 times..” The lady
clearly recognizes that’s he’s strange but thanked him and smiled politely. The
Dude: “You know, I was trying to give my seat to the old lady (referring to the
middle aged woman at ear shot, standing amongst a packed F train) but she
didn’t hear me…I’m so sorry… Mira, Old Lady, sit down…”
Lamp Post
It’s 12:58 am and I have to work tomorrow…. I’m feeling particularly COOL
tonight… Got a fit vintage NPR
t-shirt on…my muscles are easily visible…. Rockin’ fresh black and grey
Dunks. Got an effortless, only
could be learned in the hood, hop in my step. Been telling stories and the people hung off my every word…. My stories…
Been misty since about 8pm. It’s wet out, but it’s stopped raining…. I take a cab from the second spot I hit after having One More Guinness… (It’s always one more; you drinkers know what I mean)… I hail a cab… “25th between 9th and 10th “ I direct the cab with those 5 words… I’ve mumbled those words a thousand times in my life. Silent till’ the cab pulls over on the block. The front yard (“YARD “ what “we” call a playground in front of a project building) is wet from the rain. It’s unusually QUIET, save for a dude with a “Trayvon” on the benches, the park is empty. The WET everywhere looks beautiful. It’s clean… The street lamps reflect in the puddles. It’s tranquil… Looks deceivingly SAFE. I stand there in front of my building and admire the beauty for a while….
After I get my fill of the scenery the rains left behind, I pull out my keys that I’ve had since I was 13 years old and open up the magnetic lock to the front door of my building. I step in to the lobby and notice two big shady looking dudes chatting to each other, mid 40’s. I’ve seen one of the dudes before, a blond Puerto Rican, not long removed from the Island. I can tell because of the way I’ve heard him speak Spanish that he’s spent a significant part of his life in PR. Real rough around the edges, it’s clear he’s abused his body with drugs, speaks perfect hood English. He’s having a deep discussion with the dude he’s with. The Blond Bori, “I shoulda’ punched him in his face man, he don’t know who he’s messing with.” The dude he’s with, wearing a dirty, border line, filthy blue sweater, (never got a good look at this face) fumbling with a huge set of keys, looking towards the ground the entire time, responds… “Yeah you shoulda’ man.., you shoulda...” They don’t acknowledge me. The elevator opens up for us. I step in to the 6 x 6 elevator with these two unstable, shady looking people, a decision I thought carefully about. They continue their discussion with a menacing tone as if a broken record. I watch their hands. The elevator opens on the 13th floor; I hold the doors open for them as they exit and casually without an ounce of fear, in crisp English say, “Good Night Gentlemen…” The blond Bori with the menacing tone looked at me with peaceful eyes and responded…”Good Night Bro…”
"You got da' key??"
It's about 6:30 PM. Just making it back from another day in the
Corporate machine. It's cloudy, but there is still sun breaking through
the clouds. Enough sun that allows me to get away with wearing sunglasses
for a little while longer. I'm standing in front of the 21 story Project
building I grew up in. I've got a black summer sports jacket on, pants
that match and a blue, button down shirt. Got my trendy messenger bag
strapped to me; it's trendy but it serves a purpose, I'm not just wearing it to
look cool. It's waterproof, it's got a space to slide my computer in to
and I can also store my gym clothes. I'm just sayin'. I look like a
serious person. I don't exactly feel like one though. My neighbors
are trickling in from work as well. They greet me with admiration, I can
see it in there eyes and in their manner. Partly I suppose for being of
the few who made it out of here; these projects....but I'm back, for now
anyway. I'm chatting on the phone with a buddy of mine about this and
that; greeting this neighbor and that neighbor in between my conversation,
"How are you?" and "How's yours Mom" and "Nice to see
You." My buddy jokingly mocks me for taking the time to say hello, to it
seems everyone that walks by. A few moments pass and through my
sunglasses, and while I talk, I spot an elderly Junkie approaching my building.
He's rockin' an old beat up baseball cap, his grey fro' wildly sticking
out of it; his clothes are filthy. He makes it to the magnetically locked
door, Its thick bullet proof windows forever cracked and asks me politely,
"You got da' key??" The sound of his voice is muffled by his missing
teeth. Although my not subtle body language told him; don't look at me,
don't talk to me, he took the chance and asked anyway. I shook my head
NO, ignored him and continued to chat away on my phone. He knows I have
the key, my NO said a lot. Like a 6 year old that's just been scolded,
this elderly junkie slowly puts his hands in his pockets, leans up against the
fence and begins to patiently wait. Waiting for an opportunity when he
can sneak in and get his fix from an apt of the building I grew up in.
From the building where my Mother lives, from the building where all my
lovely neighbor live. A few moments pass when another neighbor comes by,
one I've known since I was a child. She doesn't have her key. She
spots the homeless junkie man, smiles at me and asks in Spanish, although she
speaks perfect English, "Tiene la llave??" (do you have the key?)
I smile, reach in to my pocket and say, "Si, claro.." ( Yes, I
do ). As I begin to unlock the door, I ask the Junkie a question I
already know the answer to. Although I look like a seasoned corporate
Man, "The hood," that manner, naturally comes out of the tone of my
voice when I speak to him, "You live in this building man??" The
Junkie in a gentle voice responds, "No Sir, I'm visiting somebody..."
I respond assertively subtle, in crisp English, "Who are you visiting??
What floor?? He cautiously approaches the door, his head down as I pierce
my eyes at him through my dark sunglasses. I lose interest ( it's like
trying to stop a flood with my bare hands, it's useless ) as my buddy on the
phone questions why I'm interrogating people? Why am I interrogating this
person who wants to enter my building??...hahah I chuckle. His
question is funny to a person who's grown up around this kind of dysfunction.
He doesn't understand. You'd have to live it.
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