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 84^th 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.

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!.”

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....