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.

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. 

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…

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'...

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...

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

 You there… Homeless Blackman, dressed like a Peruvian, Quechua speaking, native of Machu Picchu… You look penniless… I found it interesting that you pulled out a Fine cigar, neatly packaged in plastic… Gracefully pinched it out, used a cigar cutter to cut off the end and fire it up with a butane lighter… You sit there on that fire hydrant like if on a Throne looking at us all, puffing your fine cigar; the smoke in your face… You’re the 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.