Homage to the classic, One line kings of the 80’s. Featuring West One, Cope Two, Dash 167th, Wane, Kaws, Dero, Daze, myself and others. Thanks to Risk for the find.
Posted on February 29, 2008 at 08:55 PM | Comment (3 comments)
It was 2 a.m. on my 14th New Year’s Eve and I was in my room, drawing graffiti pieces in my black book, frustrated that I wasn’t better than what I was. All my friends were celebrating with their family. The festivities in my own home turned out to lame and had died down soon after midnight. My cousin Junior had let himself in my house and peek his head inside my room. He looked fucked up. I knew very well that he had a high tolerance for substances, so I knew he had been going at it hard by the way he looked.
What’s up, kid? What you’re doing? Drawing some graffiti joints?
I was always a bit of an asshole when it came to stupid, obvious questions like this one. I didn’t even bother up to look up to acknowledge him.
Yeah.
Get dressed. We’re going out.
I looked up, curious. My relationship with Junior was confined to the house and our street. We rarely went out the block together.
Where are we going?
We’re going to rob a motherfucker!
What?
You heard me. We’re going to do some vamping, kid! I’m going to teach you how to vamp.
I’ll teach you how to fucking vamp! This dude must really be fucked up! I kept my thoughts to myself.
It’s too cold out. I don’t want to go out.
Get dressed, Junior ordered me with attitude.
Junior was unpredictable and violent. I knew it in my best interest to humor him and go with him. Besides, I was curious to see his method of robbing.
I got dressed. When we stepped outside, I realized just how smashed he was. He was wobbling, on the verge of tripping over his two feet any minute. Not only was it freezing but it was windy as hell. The streets were completely desolate.
There’s nobody out. Let’s go back. I said hopefully
Fuck that, we’re going to find somebody.
Fuck, I thought.
On Saint Nicholas Ave, there was a guy in a trench coat. He looked well groomed with a gift wrapped bottle of liquor in his hand. He didn’t look like much of a fighter. He could have even been gay.
That motherfucker! Junior said, pointing to him. Let’s get him!
Junior ran clumsily towards him. I kept my distance and looked out for any cops. I was amused by Junior’s recklessness and wondered what were going to be the results of this escapade.
My man! My man! Junior called out to his prey. I thought that he was fucking up already. The last thing you want to do is alert your victim until the last possible second that you’re going to rob him, especially in open, public terrain.
The guy turned around and looked confused. Junior took a swipe at him but missed and almost fell. The guy looked scared like he defecated in his slacks.
Oh my God! What did I do? What did I do? He cried out. What a pussy! I thought. He deserved to get robbed.
Gimme your shit, motherfucker!
The guy turned and ran. Junior grabbed his coat. The guy tugged, trying to get Junior off. I watched, leaning against the side of a car, laughing so hard that I got a stitch on my side. Finally the guy tugged hard enough and Junior lost both his grip and balance. The guy help Junior’s fall out by hitting him awkwardly with his bottle on his shoulder.
That motherfucker, I thought. How dare he? I ran after towards him, but he was running too fast and wasn’t worth the effort.
Junior fell right on his chin on the hard, cold, concrete. I winced in sympathy pain for him. What an asshole!, I thought about Junior. I walked up him and crotched low.
June, you okay?
He looked up with a bloody chin. I almost got that motherfucker! Where were you?
I was watching out for the cops. I didn’t want you to get busted. I thought you had him.
Thanks a lot! Man!
I helped Junior up. His chin was dripping dark burgundy blood. I was mesmerized by it.
You need snitches, dude.
Yeah, thanks to you. I’m never taking you robbing again.
I’m sorry. But that had to be the easiest vamp in the world. I don’t know what happen. I said, trying to fuck with his head.
Forget about it.
You should have had him. What happened?
I said forget about it.
We walked back to our block together. He mocked the guy crying. “What did I do? What did I do?” I couldn’t stop laughing. When we reached our building we said good night and wished each other a happy new year. He lived in the basement of our building. Before I entered the main entrance, he called out to me.
Cousin Psych!
What’s up? I asked, already annoyed.
I love you, man.
I love you too. I said, not really believing myself.
To this day I have conflicted feelings towards my cousin Junior. He’s done everything a man can do to fuck up his life and he’s paying the price for it now. He’s never had a job, he survived anyway he knew how, even if it meant stealing from me, and he was a very violent man. You never knew what would set him off and had no problem beating a family member like any stranger he fought on the street, even his mother. He had no sense of morals or values. He’s the last kind of person an average, hard working citizen would want to be associated with for ten minutes, including me.
I judge him harshly and I wonder what does this say about me at times. After all, he is my family. It’s not like I haven’t done my share of fucked up things and just because I’ve worked towards becoming a better person, does that make me better? Why is it that I can find compassion for a complete stranger but can be so ruthless towards someone who shares the same blood as me? I can give myself a migraine trying to figure these questions out. What I do know is that not one person in this world is completely bad and vice versa.
Out of everybody in my family, Junior taught me some of the worst lessons in life. Ironically, he also taught me some of most valuable lessons. He made me aware that there are things that I could be proud of within my family, like my father’s mother cooked in the White House during the F D R administration. My father cooked for Julia Childs and my other grandmother was an accomplished fine artist who has been shown in galleries and museums in San Francisco.
When he spoke of people, he was able to scratch under the surface and offer true insight about them. He was able to tell you something good about the most undesirable person. I found it fascinating to hear him talk about people and was always surprised at how smart he really was. When everybody dismissed me as a weird fucked up kid because I was always in my own head and lacked self expression, he was the first person in my life to be able to fully understand me, sometimes better than I did myself and elaborate on it. And even though he stole from me and beat me at times, he always psychologically empowered me. He always bragged to anyone who would listen how talented and smart I was to the point of making me uncomfortable. He always predicted that I was going to turn out to be someone very special in this world and was always willing to put money on it to anyone who made a doubtful face. When you’re used to being told otherwise, I loved to hear him say that, and he said it with such conviction, I believed it myself. I guess I really do love him for that.
I wish everybody a happy New Year and all the best.
Posted on February 24, 2008 at 02:04 AM | Comment (2 comments)
I was getting my ass kicked to a favorite song, California Dreaming” by the Mama and the Papas, which was blaring out of someone’s apartment in Washington Heights, making the ordeal more surreal than what it needed to be. The crack head beast was straddled on top of me with my hair gripped between his fists, smashing my head onto the marble floor of my building lobby. He wore a dirty sleeveless t-shirt. His shoulder had a crude jailhouse tattoo of a skull with a snakes sticking out the eye holes. The dirty beast’s pupils were dilated and crazed from drugs. He had a teardrop tattooed on the side of one eye. He was fueled with enough adrenalin to kick my ass and three more like me. I could smell that he was fresh out of prison. No matter how much experience one has in the street, you’ll never quite prepare for this kind of thing. I knew that I was in trouble.
The night sucked from the start. I waited for my latest girlfriend of the trimester, Jessica at my gym, Johnny Lats for 40 minutes. Not only did she arrived without acknowledging that she was late, but she was also braless in a white wife beater. Jessica was a fine Dominican and Columbia mix from Flushing, Queens. Her claim to fame was being in a Puff Daddy video for 3 seconds. She was taller than me at 5’8 with flawless caramel skin and stunning photogenic features and a silky, black mane. She dressed in sexy, stylish clothes and had an approachable, easy manner about her. She had brown silver dollar sized nipples that showed through her white top. That summer of 96 or maybe 97, bras seemed to out of vogue, but most women who went for this trend had subtle pink nipples. I didn’t think the look was appropriate for Jessica.
Half the guys at the gym stopped working out to stare at her free tit show. I couldn’t blame them, I would have to. Most knew me, but either didn’t realize she was my girl or most likely, didn’t give a shit. Jess made a show of strutting across the gym floor, working her hips and ass, to use the ladies rest room. When she went inside, a trainer Ludlow shouted over to me.
Yo Vin, that’s you?
I nodded yes, stressed.
What happen to O?
I sliced my straighten hand across my neck and back to cue that Odette was cut off.
That’s too bad. I liked O. But this one is bad as hell. Good luck!
He was right. I needed the luck with this one, especially tonight. I had a low tolerance for disrespect, but I knew that I would be fighting all night if I confronted every man who had something to say to Jessica in my presence. The reality was that Jessica was too fine and demanded too much attention for me. Landing her did wonderful things for my ego in the beginning, but that effect was starting to reverse on me.
I met Jessica at a club three weeks earlier, where we were both there to celebrate a mutual friend’s birthday. I couldn’t take my eyes off her from the second I saw her applying lip gloss and sipping from a flute of Champagne. She was sexy, exotic and in my opinion perfect. She caught me staring and smiled. I liked her dimples and the thin gap between her top front teeth.
At the time, I was with Odette for two years. All we seemed to do was argue most of the time. Sex was almost non existent. We loved each other, but both of us were years immature for our age and came from uneducated, dysfunctional families that taught us nothing but dysfunction and co-dependency for one another. Not that we knew it, but we hardly stood a chance as a couple.
I never got much from school, but enjoyed listening to people who had something to say about life and living it. That’s been the main source of my education. I especially liked intelligent, sophisticated, women who I could learn from. Unfortunately for me, enough of them liked me. From the first sentence that came out of Jessica’s mouth, it was obvious that she had a lot to say.
A stressed out looking guy who was well dressed was trying hard to pick up a bored hot Puerto Rican chick with an empty glass.
I bet you that dude has a very nice looking girlfriend somewhere.
I acknowledged her comment with a look. I thought about it and agreed with a nod.
But instead of taking her out on a Saturday night, he chooses to make his life harder than necessary by trying to pick up some gold digger he doesn’t know and doesn’t care about anything but what’s in his pocket.
I liked how she thought. It had a ring of truth to it.
I mean, isn’t the whole point is being seen with a nice looking girl when you guys are out?
For me, it is.
So where’s your girlfriend.
We’re not speaking.
Really? Whose fault is that?
Neither. We just don’t get along anymore.
Jessica was impressed by my honesty.
So why don’t you break up?
I don’t know. We still love each other and hope that things might get better, but they’re not.
That’s a shame. Are you sure that you two aren’t co-dependent on one another?
What does that mean?
It means that you’re just afraid to let go. No matter how bad things are, you use each other as security blankets.
That sounds just about right.
Is she attractive?
Sometimes I forget how much she is, but she gets a lot of attention from guys. I’m usually too angry with her to be attracted to her.
Since that conversation, Jessica and I pretty much became boyfriend and girlfriend. I broke up with Odette days later, explaining that I was unhappy and needed my space. I wasn’t fooling her. She knew another woman was involved and was bitter about it. All I could think about was Jessica to give her feelings much consideration.
Jessica was perfect and charming until one day she wasn’t. She required a lot of attention, but I was happy to provide all that I could. She liked that I wrote and had creative ambitions of her own. We were extremely sexually compatible and there wasn’t another woman I wanted to sleep with, but her. Our love affair was hot and manic.
At the time I managed Johnny Lats overnight from 12 to 8. At first, she was sad to see me leave for the night and eventually she became resentful about it, and soon after that, I couldn’t do anything right as far as she was concerned. Naturally, I wasn’t motivated to be so accommodating to her needs. Within two months, the honeymoon was over just like that. I found myself thinking about Odette and how she appreciated everything I did for her. As much as she liked to argue, she always had a way of making feel like a man and that I was needed and I missed her for that. I was beginning to realize that I’ve made yet another foolish move in life.
Jessica returned from the rest room complaining that it was dirty and how rude the members were for ogling her breasts. I found myself disliking her more with every interaction. I forgot why I found myself drawn to her in the first place. She was an asshole. She informed me that we had to wait for two of her former roommates and co-workers, Lauren and a girl who called herself the “Siren.” We waited outside the gym where she immediately complained about the way I was dressed. I had on a cream linen button down, dark jeans and a pair of Nike Cortez. She wanted me to dress cooler and trendier. She hated that I ignored most of her complaints, but I knew it was for the better. I was much better at breaking down the worst of people’s psychological make up than I was at any kind of fighting. Sometimes there’s nothing more ruthless than the ugly truth.
Lauren and the Siren arrived 30 minutes later. Jessica looked up to the Siren and talked well about her often, but in person she was not impressive. She was hot as hell with a cartoon like figure that was more Jessica Rabbit than real. She carried herself like she was the hottest shit to walk the streets of New York. She looked mixed, black and some kind of Caucasian. She opened her mouth and a faux, exaggerated Jewish accent immediately turned her into a character. With in five minutes I knew that she was married to a Jewish man fresh out of law school and making 30 thousand as a public defender, which didn’t suit her lifestyle. She also revealed that the rapper Mase kicked it her at a club the night before and that she was thinking about going out with him. I found her disgusting and full of shit. These feelings transferred to Jessica for being guilty out of association. The Siren looked at me up and down with disapproval.
You look alright for a Sunday shopping spree in Soho, but its Saturday night. Where do you think you’re going?
I’m just going with the flow.
Good luck, but I doubt that you’re get in anywhere place we’re going.
I shrugged. Fuck the stupid bitch.
The first stop was a place called El Flamingo, a classy looking place that catered to pretentious low lives and higher end drug dealers. I worked there as a bouncer a few years back and broke up no less than five fights a night. The Siren tended bar part time here. The girls were surprised that I knew half the staff. The owners, two greasy brothers with ponytails were on Jessica and her tits. When they moved on, the bouncers and promoters were on her like flies on shit. She lavished in the attention. I saw the Siren unbuttoned her tight white shirt to reveal more cleavage. I don’t know how it was other nights when they went out, but tonight the Siren couldn’t compete with Jessica. She knew it and didn’t like it. I sat at the bar with Lauren, nursing a Ketel One with cranberry. I attempted to have a conversation with her but it was nearly impossible with her one word answers. I watched Jessica flirt openly with whomever and didn’t like it. It was the first time I ever felt jealousy over a girl and hated it. Lucky for me, the Siren was also jealous and wanted to leave.
The next stop was a hot spot called Life. During the cab ride, the siren wanted to know what I did for a living. Jessica answered for me. He’s a trainer and a wanna-bee screenwriter.
You don’t look like a writer.
What do you write? action movies or something?
No. Drama.
Interesting! Make sure you write a part for me.
Do you like my home girl, Jessica?
I like her.
You fuck her good?
I try my best.
Why do you think I keep him around? Jessica added.
Hey Sweetheart, at least you’re good for something. But you know that doesn’t last long. Girls like us need more. We have a lifestyle that you have to be able to afford. Look at my girl. Movie star material.
Jessica flashed the same smile that got me. She was beautiful indeed.
It takes more than a big dick to keep this girl happy. Get on your job and sell one of those screenplays.
Will do.
You should go home. They’re not going to let you in. Don’t play yourself.
I won’t.
We arrived at Life and as soon as we got out the cab, I saw Big Rich, a bouncer I was friendly with from my gym Johnny Lats. Big Rich approached me, happy to see me and gave me a hug. He was 6’4” and about 300 lbs with a most pleasant personality. He always hustled me for free protein drinks on my shift. I gave him the obligated hard time, but never failed to hook him up. Not because of his size, but because he was so cool, he was hard to say no to. Big Rich also happened to be responsible for my most memorable New Years Eve ever with Odette, where he kept the Champagne flowing towards us all night for us at Lot 61. Big Rich always made sure I got V.I.P. status at any of the clubs he worked at. Unfortunately for me, he moved on to become Missy Elliot’s fulltime bodyguard.
He pulled me inside the velvet rope and asked who I was with. I pointed out Jessica, ignoring the two other bitches, Siren and Lauren. Big Rich cued Jessica over and gave her a V.I.P. band to wear on her wrist.
The Siren waved at Jessica from behind the velvet rope.
What’s up?
Big Rich asked about her. I made a face as I hesitated to ask him to let her and Lauren in. He sensed my dislike for them, letting the in anyway, but without V.I.P. status. This pissed the Siren and Lauren off.
How do you know him anyway? Siren demanded to know.
From the gym.
Figures. He looks like a meat head.
Jessica and I went into V.I.P. which I thought was overrated. It was a place for people who cared about being seen. It was more crowded than the rest of the club with. Leonardo DiCaprio, Mark Walberg and David Blaine were hanging out together with a bunch of their boys.
Some jerk-off shouted over to Decaprio. Leo. Love your work, dude!
The actor glared at the dick as he nodded.
Jessica found herself an ideal spot to position herself to pose for Leo, Mark and David.
David Blaine checked her out, but because he was the least famous of the bunch, Jessica looked elsewhere while I observed, thinking what a whore I got myself mixed up with. Had I been with Odette, we would have no doubt been fighting by now, but not because she was sweating some celebrity. My mistake was becoming more and more painfully obvious to me.
Meanwhile, the Siren and Lauren was outside the tinted glass V.I. P. door pleading with security to let them in. The militant guard wasn’t having it. Matt Dillon appeared at the door. The Siren wasted no time chatting him up. Dillon had a stupid grin on his face as he talked to her tits.
One of DiCaprios’ boys pointed out the Outsider to him. Leo told him something in his ear. The kid delivered a message to the bouncer and Matt Dillon was promptly denied entrance. It looked like he said… “Don’t you know who the fuck I am?” but security couldn’t have given a shit. The actor disappeared and the Siren and Lauren followed behind.
I soon got both bored and disgusted of Jessica. I wondered what kind of person leaves their friends behind to hang out in a pretentious V.I.P area. People like Jessica, I guess. I left V.I.P. and wandered the club. There were loads of beautiful people everywhere. A blond girl wearing angel wings on her back and a flimsy white short dress with an extra low neckline approached me.
You’re hot.
No, I’m fine. Are you hot?
No. I mean you. You’re hot!
Oh. I thought something different.
She caressed my chest.
You work out?
I shrugged yes, bored of the lame pick up line.
I like Latinos.
I didn’t like blondes. I kept my thoughts to myself.
That’s good to know.
You have any coke?
Sorry. You’re ten minutes too late. I had a bunch. I lied, to fuck with her.
It was nice to meeting you! The blonde angel drifted away.
I spied Matt Dillon going into the men’s room with both the Siren and Lauren. I bet that they were going to suck his dick. I waited a couple of minutes and entered the rest room to investigate.
The three were in a stall together. I could make out that the Siren was in a squat position. I wondered what Lauren was doing. Maybe he was fingering her. Damm! Matt Dillon had it good.
I exited the lavatory and saw a pretty red head. I approached her.
Excuse me, but do you know who I am?
The red head shook her head no.
You don’t?
No. I don’t know who you are. Who are you?
If you don’t know, I’m not going to tell you. I’ve never been so insulted.
I walked away. The red head called for me to come back. I looked back at her.
Forget it. You blew it. I said, trying not to laugh at my own joke.
I went back into V.I.P. to let Jessica know I wanted to go home.
I don’t.
Well, I’ll see you later or tomorrow then. I’m out. This shit is whack.
It’s whack because you’re whack.
Whatever! Bye.
You’re leaving without me?
Yeah.
I knew Jessica was depended on me for a cab ride to either her house or my house.
You asshole! Wait for me. Where’s Lauren and the Siren?
Probably sucking some dick somewhere.
Don’t talk about my friends like that.
Let’s go!
It’s not even 3:30. This is fucked up.
You could stay.
By myself? I came with you.
As if that would stop you, if something better came your way?
You have a real low self esteem. Do you know that?
Save your amateur psychology for somebody that’ll go for that bullshit.
Those are pretty big words for somebody who didn’t go to school.
I must be a genius then.
I doubt that.
Lauren and the Siren were waiting outside. Siren couldn’t wait to see Jessica.
Do you believe that Matt Dillon wanted Lauren and me to suck his dick in the bathroom stall? He is so fucking gross! I bet he has a little one.
Jessica informed the two hookers that she was going home.
Can you drop me off?
Jessica answered for me. Sure. Not a problem.
Where do you live? I smartly asked.
On 2nd street and D. The opposite direction of where Jessica and I were heading.
Its better that you get your own cab.
You can’t take me?
I can, but I’m not.
Jessica sweetheart, the next time I see you, I hope you have a new boyfriend. Get rid of this thug and find yourself a real gentleman.
Have a good night ladies. Great to meet you. By the way, your knees are dirty.
I hailed a cab and opened the down for a brooding Jessica.
You have no right talking to my friends like that.
I ignored her. She hated that.
Fucking 3:30 and going home on a Saturday night. This sucks big time. Jessica didn’t stop complaining for the entire cab ride home. The cab dropped us off. My street was unusually desolate for a hot July night.
You wanna do some coke?
It’s almost four!
So!
I want to go to sleep.
You don’t want to fuck?
I don’t need coke to fuck.
But I need coke to swallow.
I thought you didn’t do that.
I’m in a rare mood. Take advantage.
Nah. I’m okay.
I’m not going upstairs unless you get some coke.
Are you crazy?
No. It’s bad enough you dissed my best friends and fucked up my night. The least you could do is get some coke.
Get the fuck out of here.
I’ll let you fuck me in the ass.
What a whore, I thought.
Still no!
I went to unlock my building’s front door, but it was broken open. I went inside and waited a few minutes by the staircase. Jessica wasn’t coming in.
I went back outside.
I’m serious. I’m not going anywhere until you get some coke.
We were both distracted by a crack head searching through some trash across the street.
That’s a strong looking crack head, she commented.
He must be fresh out the joint.
You would know!
I rolled my eyes at the comment.
Meet me upstairs. I gave Jessica my house keys and walked up the block to Saint Nicholas to cop some blow.
The usual guys weren’t out. I spoke to a Dominican guy to ask where they were at. He informed me that they went home early but for ten bucks he would take me to a guy who had good shit. The Dominican asked me for the money.
Come on, Poppi! What do I look like to you?
Okay, come with me.
He took me to a shady coke apartment. The transaction took less than five minutes and I hurried back to my building with a gram. As soon as I entered, I heard Jessica’s muffled cries over the Mamas and the Papas. I rushed towards the staircase and the muscular crack head had her, pinned to the floor with her breasts fully exposed from her torn wife beater. He had one hand wrapped over her mouth and he was groping her crotch with the other. He looked up at me as I kicked him with everything I had in the ribs. This knocked him over, but he quickly recuperated and got up and charged at me. He was fast and within seconds he dipped down and snatched my legs from underneath me, slamming me on my back. He pulled my own move on me and now I knew why it was so effective.
Jessica stood screaming.
Go to my house! I yelled at her. I didn’t need to worry about her while dealing with this beast. She stood screaming.
Go!
The Crack head grabbed me by the locks of my hair and started slamming my head on the marble floor over and over. I felt that with every bang, my head was going to split open on the next.
You want to be a hero? This is what happens to heroes! You punk bitch!
Jessica was crying.
Go home, you fucking bitch! I yelled at her.
The Crack head paused on what he was doing and looked at Jessica.
Listen to your bitch! I’m going put my dick in you as soon as I’m finished with this punk.
That’s what I was afraid of. Jessica only cried louder.
Look at those luscious tits! The Crack head announced. I’m going to suck your titties.
The Crack head was waving one hand frenetically close to me as he lusted on Jessica between beating my ass. I saw my opportunity.
Motherfucker!
I grabbed his middle and index finger with one hand and his ring finger and his pinkie with the other hand. With all my might, I split them like a wish bone. The Crack head screamed like nothing I ever heard in my life. He quickly got off of me and was going into convulsions on the floor. I got up and checked the back of my head for blood. There was none. I looked at Jessica.
Go the fuck to my house NOW!
I kicked the Crack head in the head and I kicked him again and again.
Okay, okay! He pleaded.
Okay nothing, you bastard!
The Crack head lay helpless. My guess was that he was in shock. I grabbed him by his feet and dragged him towards out my building. He grabbed on to the door with his good hand. I dropped his legs to stomp on his hand. He quickly let go. I finished dragging him to the street.
He was face down on the concrete.
What did my girl do to you?
He didn’t answer. Jessica came outside with her arms wrapped around her breasts.
What the fuck is wrong with you? Go upstairs. I put my attention back on the Crack head.
Answer me! A headache was already coming on. He didn’t say anything. You fucked with the wrong motherfucker, asshole!
I grabbed the Crack head by his hair and I grated his face against the concrete ground. Jessica saw the flesh peeling off his face and screamed. I looked to see the fear in her eyes and stopped.
You’re an animal!
The Crack head’s newly disfigured face was hard to look at. I got up and kicked it one last time. I dragged him between two parked cars and left him there.
You killed him! Jessica told me in tears.
So! He was going to kill me then fuck you and kill you.
No he wasn’t!
You think he was going to leave you alive to I.D. him?
You killed him!
I checked his pulse. He was breathing. Faintly, but he was breathing.
Nah, he’s okay.
You liar! I don’t think I can be with you anymore.
We were going that direction anyway. I’m sorry this happen tonight.
Me too. All because you didn’t want to hang out longer. It’s your fault. Now a man is dead.
He’s not fucking dead!
I kicked him and he grunted.
See?
You’re sick.
I unbuttoned my shirt and gave it to her.
Here cover up yourself already and let me walk you to a cab.
I can’t go home like this.
You have no choice.
Fine.
We walked up to Saint Nicholas and I flagged a Lincoln Towncar.
How much to Flushing?
Sixty.
I gave Jessica a dirty look and gave her three twenties.
Call me when you get home, so I know you got home safe.
So this is it?
This is it.
You’re going to regret this.
Maybe I will.
I walked away.
When I got to my building, the Crack head was no longer between the two cars I left him at. I looked down the next block and saw him staggering on his way somewhere.
Bastard!
I went to my apartment and showered. My body was already aching. I begun to notice bruises and cuts I didn’t realize I had. I lay in bed and called Odette.
She answered, in a sweet, sleepy voice.
What’s up, Boo-Boo? Are you okay?
Yo, you don’t know what happen tonight?
What? Tell me!
I almost killed this crack head outside my building.
Get the fuck out of here! What happened?
He was trying to rape Jessica.
I told you that bimbo was nothing but trouble, but you never want to listen to Odette. You keep on going out with those educated bitches.
The bitch got mad at me. We broke up.
For beating up the crack head?
Yeah!
What? Nigga, you better kill any motherfucker that ever tries to rape me.
I liked this about Odette.
Thank you, Boo-Boo.
For what?
Just for being you.
I tried to tell you, motherfucker! But you never listen!
I know.
Posted on February 19, 2008 at 12:52 AM | Comment (8 comments)
Being dead sucks. It’s so unfair. Talk about a jip. It’s not all that much different than being alive, except that you’re not in your physical form, therefore lacking physical sensations. I’ll never get to taste a steak again or for that matter, a pint of Stella Atrois or fuck it, a pint of Haagan Daz Vannila Swiss Almond. I’ll never enjoy another orgasm again or the feel of my dick in a nice, tight, wet vagina. The only good thing is that I’ll never feel pain again, but I never minded physical pain much. What I did mind was emotional pain and that doesn’t go away when you die. It’s part of a package deal with your spirit. How fucked is that? So here I am, dead as a nail, never to eat another hamburger again or recieve an excellent blowjob but I have to linger around, depressed. Who ever made this system up, really knew how to fuck people of their mojo.
Here I am stuck on Saint Nicholas Avenue. My killer ran into 182nd street towards Wadsworth. I couldn’t bother to investigate any further. It’s not like I could do anything about it anyway. Yeah, I’m a ghost, but I’m not like a ghost in the movies where I can haunt his ass and drive him crazy. You see, there’s no glory in this death shit whatsoever. It’s better to stay alive as long as possible. Even an 80 year old man can pay a prostitute to play with his balls or something. Me… nothing and I really do mean nothing.
It’s amazing how many people have walked past my corpse, stared at it and kept on walking. It’s been 45 minutes since my death and I’m, er..my body is still laying there. Ugly as fuck too. I don’t make a very good looking dead person. Having my brains blown out doesn’t help. I wonder how are my friends going to find out about this? Poor Odette. She’ll probably take it the worst. I can see her crying for weeks now. Isaac will definitely be extremely upset. Eddie too. Everybody else, I think they’ll get over it pretty quick. At least I’ve left most people an arsenal of funny stories to get a good laugh off of.
I can see Eddie now telling Andy or Shey about the time we snuck into High Bridge pool at night and I smoked angel dust and was convinced I was drowning in the wading section of the pool.
When you die, you don’t get a “how to” manual to tell you what to do, but somehow you know what’s up. I could linger around, loitering like an asshole and hope that I come across someone or something being born and reincarnate myself into that physical form and then I wouldn’t be so bored. Maybe I should go to Central Park and look for a bird’s nest and come back as a bird. With my luck, I’ll probably pick a pigeon’s nest, mistaking it for something glorious like a hawk’s nest. That wouldn’t be so hot.
The other thing I could do is choose somebody to protect over. I mean there’s only so much protecting I can do, but I can warn them of any potential danger that lies ahead. I know just who I would want to protect. Odette. That means I would have to see her fucking other dudes. What the hell? I’ve never been the jealous type. Doesn’t make sense to start now?
Posted on February 11, 2008 at 04:28 PM | Comment (6 comments)
It’s one a.m. in the morning and even though it’s August, I can feel the chill of Autumn coming on. The night sky is clear and beautiful as is the artitecture of the buildings above me. But at street level, it’s a different story. This is Washington Heights and I’m walking through Saint Nicholas Avenue and the streets are dirty with excessive litter. It makes me sad.
On the opposite end of this block is 184th street and a Dominican man with skin the color of caramel walks my way. He is young and judging by his walk, he is trouble. He has a gun concealed on his person somewhere. Eventhough I can’t see it, I know it. I don’t know how I know. I just do.
Even though the street is big enough for many people, we walk towards each other’s path. I know I should walk out of the way to avoid problems but my ego says “fuck that!” The man and I are close enough so that we can see each other’s faces. He has souless, black, shiny eyes. We make eye contact and are both aware that our shoulders are going to collide. I brace myself for the impact as I knock past him, pushing him back with ease. My ego is momentarily satisfied.
“Que Vina, loco?” I hear him say to me. I turn and the man looks pissed.
“You got beef, homeboy?” He asks with a thick accent. I watch him reach behind his waist. My heart skips a beat and then races. He pulls out a shiny piece of black metal. “I knew it.” I tell myself regretfully. I stare at the gun. It’s small. I can’t tell if it’s a 22 or a 25 calibre.
“What’s up now?” The Dominican asks with the knowledge that he holds my life in his hands.
“Nothing’s up.” I tell him.
“That’s what I thought, bitch!” I watch him squeeze the trigger. The bullet is so fast that I don’t feel it enter my stomach. It takes seconds for me to feel heat and then the bullet ripping through my intestines. I see sparks of white light and feel unbearable pain. I scream as the bullet richochets inside of my person, smashing through bones and through some of my vital organs. I feel light headed. I can’t believe this is happening. Please let me wake up from a bad dream, but I don’t wake. My legs weaken and my knees buckle. I falls backwards on to the hard concrete. I know that I am going to die. I close my eyes as I scream uncontrollably in agony.
I see myself as a three year old on my tricycle. I see Elsie and Ernie smiling at me with loving eyes. I see Alfred laughing. I see Patricia teaching me to dance the hustle in the living room. I see my Titi Olga smiling at me. I see Sandra and I see Eddie and I drawing graffiti in the back of 6th grade Spanish class. I see John Bonnila and I skateboarding down Snake hill. I see myself smoking blunts with Nel-One and Eps in the back of 157th train station. I see Juice laughing at one of my stories. I see Seen smirking. I see Poke drawing in my blackbook. I see the first time I met West at 145th street with Zear and Zame. I see Laura and I facing eachother in bed during the summer of 1988. I see Blust and Brue dee-jaying. I see Dash telling me, “Yo beee, you’re bugging!” I see Odette loving me unconditionally. I see my mother smiling. As well as my sisters Rosie and Stephanie. I see Victor, Joyce, Nikki, Arthur and I dancing at Sway. I see Kristin Kelly smiling at me, calling me honey. I see Andy and Jon at the shop.
I open my eyes. I miss all these people so much already. I love them so much. Do they know that? I cry from both pain and the sadness of my death.
My killer is looking down at me, laughing at me. He calls me a bitch ass motherfucker. And even though my throat and nose is flooded with blood, I manage to get in my last words.
“That’s why your mother sucked my dick, faggot!”
He aims his gun to my head. I close my eyes tight. I feel my head slam back onto cold, hard concrete. Even though I am dead, my heart has a few weak beats left in it. My organs starts to shut down. My blood turns cold. I see a vision of my father who I never met because of his own suicidal death. I want to hug him but I can’t. He smiles and shakes his head with sad eyes.
“I tried to tell you, son.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m sorry. Can’t you do something? Please!”
My body relieves itself for the last time and then I see nothing. I hear nothing. I feel nothing.
Posted on February 07, 2008 at 07:11 PM | Comment (18 comments)
“Did I do Something Good or Bad?”
Last night as I was walking down the hill on my block, a Dominoes pizza delivery guy sped by me on his bike, skimming me by inches. I wanted to yell what the fuck? But since I’ve been dealing with the flu, I needed to conserve my energy.
A little bit farther down the block, there was also a woman and her little boy walking. The little boy was actually running awkwardly down my block, not yet in total control of his movements. The reckless delivery guy just missed the kid by inches as well. I wondered if was he stupid or just didn’t give a fuck?
As I watched him park and chain his bike in front of my building, I immediately grinned and took out my keys and fumbled with my “Supreme” all in one “Swiss army” utility thingy that has all sorts of useful shit, including a little knife.
As soon as he stepped foot inside my building, I punctured both his front and back tires and put my palm over it so I can enjoy feeling the breeze of his air leaking out. His tires were finished.
I sat on my stoop and waited for him to come out to discover his misfortune. He flipped in Spanish and said something to me that seemed like a question. I’m not well versed in the lanquage, so I just shrugged my shoulders and said “I dunno.” I wished him a good night and went inside.
I felt a tinge of guilt for a few minutes. I probably fucked up his lively hood for a day or two. Maybe he had kids to feed, who kows what his personal situation is? But then I thought… you know what? Fuck that shit! I might have also saved someone from getting hit that night. I guess it’s all on how you look at it. I know that I have a talent for spinning things so that it justifies my actions. Don’t let me fool you. But just out of a natural child-like curiousty...I wonder how do you see it?
Posted on February 05, 2008 at 04:25 PM | Comment (10 comments)
