Spent three-hundred dollars on plants and plant-related objects. My wife made me cum astonishingly fast this morning... with the genius of her anxious, moist mouth. I will put in more pictures of her modeling work, but some stuff cannot be used yet for reasons. I was walking down Chicago Avenue when a Puerto Rican boy, probably around eighteen years of age, shoved open the glass Subway sandwich shop door only to yell menacing language and hurl the Latin King Crown sign at what I thought to be none other than my own miserable person. I was confused and started to attempt to place the boy's face somewhere in the labyrinthine fleshy section of the mind where such historical phenomena are placed. Nothing. I did serve around 5 years in maximum-securities in Illinois, but he would not have been old enough. I know I have some enemies, but they do not look like him, and there is only one Latin King who I know I must immediately remove my glasses for when i see - and he is fat, and serving a life sentence for killing his girlfriend and the boy whom she also enjoyed to crown.
I walked off about a half a block and just decided that whatever is going to come out of this is going to have to surface right now because I already have to dart my eyes and race my head from side to side watching for the ghosts of antiquity possibly deciding to make what seemed to be empty threats dense, heavy, and rewarding.
I walked toward the Subway door all the time staring at the boy through the starkly clear window with his hat cocked to the left nodding his heavy skull down and up to the droning orgy of humans babbling machine noise. I was watching him as I entered the door and he looked a bit pale of a sudden, maybe even sick. he was not bobbing his heavy head although I heard the rhythm he thought he was bobbing to playing through the medium sounding speakers in this utterly medium place with medium food and medium fresh/real/artificial/smelling/priced/ looking/ sized/ will ruin you. My wife did not want me to do this thing which was unknown how it would die. I really had to, though. I just had to, though. I asked him "who were you yelling at?" And "do you know me?"
"Naa, nigga, it ain't even like that, we was hollerin' at some otha' motherfucka' in a car...it's all family, King love."
"Oh, I thought you were talking to me, it's cool, though."
His pudgier bodied friend who is quite smiley, says "it's these S.D.'s and shit thinkin' they all big and shit now that they growed up and shit thinkin' they hard or somethin'." S.D. is short for Satan's Disciple, a branch of "Folks" generally made up of Latino kids.
"Oh, alright, you from around here?," says I.
"Hell yeah, right here...these S.D.'s right down there, man!," answers pudgier, and darker boy.
"Alright guys, see ya' around the block,"as I turn my back and head toward a relieved wife who also happens to be a very young girl.
"Holla, nigga,"one of the the little princes farewells.