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…”