Chorus Of Noises

My mornings in the DR in the long term would take some getting used to. There is a little bird and a lizard that live in the enormous tree outside my window. A little bird that chirps its high pitched chirp, till no freagin' end. "Chirp , Chirp , Chirp , freagin' Chirp!" I've never wished harm on a animal but if ever one deserves to die its that little bird. Does it not have other little bird friends to chirp with? Why doesn't it get hungry? It's not a baby bird... I daydream of opening fire with a submachine gun, devouring the branches with the bullets , some ricocheting off the side of the building until bird no freagin' more ... The lizard is quiet but he freaks me out when I find him chilling behind the curtain on the window like one of those Garfield suction cup dolls. In between and before that maniac bird chirping and my Lizard friend, is the 2 am , 4am and 5 am rooster crow. The F'r lives a few houses down but you'd think he's in the same room with you. Then there are the dogs barking. I swear, dogs bark in this country like they're cheering at some kind of dog Super Bowl. Then there is the cleaning lady who lives in the house next door who has the worst singing voice I have ever heard. If Rafael Trujillo was alive and heard her, he'd use her as some kind of torturing device. On top there is a baby next door who's cry sounds like a gargoyle or some sh!t... It's the weirdest cry I ever heard... Its like she's gargling and crying at the same time ... These long gargling , baby crying, gargoyle like sounds... Every night I've gotten home , not sober and have to deal with this chorus of noises. So I wake up half asleep and have to then deal with a cold ass shower. The Dominicans do not believe in hot water. Every morning I have to pump myself up before I jump in that icicle chamber. My heart races and I will myself in like an Olympic ski jumper, let out a few screams and grunts, wash my body in a shivering motion. All and all though this is a beautiful country.

"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 ...

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. 

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…  

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.”

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 1^st 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

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!.”