No police test for me...reality hit me like a bomb in Nagasaki (sp?). I am high, half drunk, and alone with my thoughts.
My beer belly (small, well, medium) sags over my doctor's scrums. Tonight I bought gas for a very, very uncivilized latino fella (couldn't have been more than twenty-six and he was ready to die over a glance, an authoritive voice, a ten beg of coke, a fictionalized worshipped scumbag, a cause that people forget in seventy-five minutes...
Yo Yo Nigga would I be frontin you tryin to wreck your game and shit after yous bought me a muthufuckin bag of coke and all holmes?
ME: SNIFF
Yo holmes you do that like whole bag an' shit yo ma man, don't be stingy an' shit yo.
Where is the after hours joint?
Yo Yo Yo straight up nigga the place where we's just got tha coke an' shit...it be like two blocks up an' shit and you turn right an' walk like fifty feet my man an' it be right there...where we was.
You're full of shit.
Yo, Yo, Yo, straight up DOG! Look me in the eye an' shit! Would I be lookin at you an' shit if I be lyin an' shit? Would I? Would I? Yo DOG, yo just bought be a bag of coke an' a quarter tank of gas and all...why would you think I would do that an' shit bro?"
(Becuase I would) Can't trust anyone anymore.
And that be a sad thing and all bro.
Yes. yes.
SO we be right here for ten minutes; make sure you find it an' all.
Thanks.
You's my nigga muthafucka!
Yep.
Up straight two block, they let you in; no worries.
Really?
Straight up nigga.
Alright.
Alright nigga you got to trust me an' shit bro...!
I do.
I walk the directions; turn right, just as he said. I picture his frizzy Puerto Rican hair, his Clipper's hat with the tag still salvaged, hanging like some ribbon for best of wearing a hat like everyone else in the vicinity.
There is nothing on the block, It doesn't look familiar. Naturally when I walk back far enough to see, he is gone with his silent goofy looking black comrade who was three steps away from the sickle; tough talk so tired and blown out the ass of incoherent hip-hop morning DJs with promises of mo of this yo, and mo of that and shouting vapid comments and promising tickets to the latest understood "blacks only" concert/gathering/get together...what have you. A complete pile of steaming horse shit.
I walk, and walk, occasionally ask a Englishless speaking Polock (as if he'd know anyway) for directions back to my block. The hardened men just stared at me with their blue eyes which either say "I want you to suck my cock 'cause stupid wife is asleep, or, "I want to kick the almighty shit out of you because you raise rent and make noise outside bars with smoke!" Either case, the after hours urge dies. And the Golden arches appear from a mile away like the star of david smiling wide.
Two polocks are outside eating. I ask them if they are serving breakfast or dinner as if it were a Zagat's four star restaurant and I couldn't wait to sample tasty morsels of top rated chow.
It is breakfast and I order a sausage McMuffin meal with a Coke, and a steak, egg, and cheese bagel. The gypsy cab comes and gets me with the usual silent Mexican driver, who first stutters the directions, testing the game. I say I live here, get me there quick. Warren Oates style - fuck you breakback, drive.
I end up back where I left. Askewed, lonely, chemically distorted, lying to myself. Thinking about Halloween parties of old. Knowing mine this year, a killer, only if invited. Maybe P.M. tomorrow...connections. I am sooooo connected. I have the Gotti boys give me pedicures with a nice pumas stone and force them into conversations about Romantic poets ( I make them read them.). Their mom loves me. We did mess around once in her office at The Star. I tit fucked her and gushed my male milk all over her upper neck and chin, some drizzling on her fake swollen tits, the build up of a week's abstinence. She tells me to get the fuck off her when done, grabs Kleenex. She is more dangerous than Cleopatra
Sleep with the fishes, cock in mouth, body the color of a fluke, washed up, Henry Hudson number 789,893 RIP. Me.
It is time to just take it easy. Take it easy. Take it easy. Stay-In-Control. Keep Moving. None of this happened if you remove all the articles and adjectives, really.
I will take that test. Two hours, swallow 300 mg of Provigil, Gatorade, ready to score high. ABSOLUTELY NO CELL PHONES ALOUD. Lots of Old Spice on me, I smell like a Marley concert circa 77.
My beer belly (small, well, medium) sags over my doctor's scrums. Tonight I bought gas for a very, very uncivilized latino fella (couldn't have been more than twenty-six and he was ready to die over a glance, an authoritive voice, a ten beg of coke, a fictionalized worshipped scumbag, a cause that people forget in seventy-five minutes...
Yo Yo Nigga would I be frontin you tryin to wreck your game and shit after yous bought me a muthufuckin bag of coke and all holmes?
ME: SNIFF
Yo holmes you do that like whole bag an' shit yo ma man, don't be stingy an' shit yo.
Where is the after hours joint?
Yo Yo Yo straight up nigga the place where we's just got tha coke an' shit...it be like two blocks up an' shit and you turn right an' walk like fifty feet my man an' it be right there...where we was.
You're full of shit.
Yo, Yo, Yo, straight up DOG! Look me in the eye an' shit! Would I be lookin at you an' shit if I be lyin an' shit? Would I? Would I? Yo DOG, yo just bought be a bag of coke an' a quarter tank of gas and all...why would you think I would do that an' shit bro?"
(Becuase I would) Can't trust anyone anymore.
And that be a sad thing and all bro.
Yes. yes.
SO we be right here for ten minutes; make sure you find it an' all.
Thanks.
You's my nigga muthafucka!
Yep.
Up straight two block, they let you in; no worries.
Really?
Straight up nigga.
Alright.
Alright nigga you got to trust me an' shit bro...!
I do.
I walk the directions; turn right, just as he said. I picture his frizzy Puerto Rican hair, his Clipper's hat with the tag still salvaged, hanging like some ribbon for best of wearing a hat like everyone else in the vicinity.
There is nothing on the block, It doesn't look familiar. Naturally when I walk back far enough to see, he is gone with his silent goofy looking black comrade who was three steps away from the sickle; tough talk so tired and blown out the ass of incoherent hip-hop morning DJs with promises of mo of this yo, and mo of that and shouting vapid comments and promising tickets to the latest understood "blacks only" concert/gathering/get together...what have you. A complete pile of steaming horse shit.
I walk, and walk, occasionally ask a Englishless speaking Polock (as if he'd know anyway) for directions back to my block. The hardened men just stared at me with their blue eyes which either say "I want you to suck my cock 'cause stupid wife is asleep, or, "I want to kick the almighty shit out of you because you raise rent and make noise outside bars with smoke!" Either case, the after hours urge dies. And the Golden arches appear from a mile away like the star of david smiling wide.
Two polocks are outside eating. I ask them if they are serving breakfast or dinner as if it were a Zagat's four star restaurant and I couldn't wait to sample tasty morsels of top rated chow.
It is breakfast and I order a sausage McMuffin meal with a Coke, and a steak, egg, and cheese bagel. The gypsy cab comes and gets me with the usual silent Mexican driver, who first stutters the directions, testing the game. I say I live here, get me there quick. Warren Oates style - fuck you breakback, drive.
I end up back where I left. Askewed, lonely, chemically distorted, lying to myself. Thinking about Halloween parties of old. Knowing mine this year, a killer, only if invited. Maybe P.M. tomorrow...connections. I am sooooo connected. I have the Gotti boys give me pedicures with a nice pumas stone and force them into conversations about Romantic poets ( I make them read them.). Their mom loves me. We did mess around once in her office at The Star. I tit fucked her and gushed my male milk all over her upper neck and chin, some drizzling on her fake swollen tits, the build up of a week's abstinence. She tells me to get the fuck off her when done, grabs Kleenex. She is more dangerous than Cleopatra
Sleep with the fishes, cock in mouth, body the color of a fluke, washed up, Henry Hudson number 789,893 RIP. Me.
It is time to just take it easy. Take it easy. Take it easy. Stay-In-Control. Keep Moving. None of this happened if you remove all the articles and adjectives, really.
I will take that test. Two hours, swallow 300 mg of Provigil, Gatorade, ready to score high. ABSOLUTELY NO CELL PHONES ALOUD. Lots of Old Spice on me, I smell like a Marley concert circa 77.
brooklynbabe:
Hmm I don't think you're that shy 