nautideux

The meeting I kind of didn't absolutely dread going to was unfortunately out by all the apocalyptic tenements, east of that strange triangular intersection where canal actually crosses essex, the one where, besides no more than one or two stone silent wild-eyed Vietnam veterans in fatigue jackets de-sleeved to make vests or the drastically old one or two Korea vets, who pretty much are now senile or terminally ill or both, there aren't any other white people among the throngs of court appointed african americans, other than "Big Mario", who, when he see's us, always puts on a sort of mock-stern expression and says, "Do not, under any circumstances, have FUN" and still finds it clutch-your-stomach funny, every time, week after week and always seems surprised to noitice Kyi's gawd-awful shakes and tremors when she tries to light a cigarette standing around out front, in that tiny vestibule area that's the only such refuge out of the wind, and stops laughing and coughing and all, and says, all concerned and serious , "you alright hun?" and has to be told, again, every time, week after week, that "I'm fine Big Mario it's just the medicines" and merits a not all THAT obvious sort of fake smile and is shown much more patience than Latin Rey who still insists, despite numerous "yo dude"'s and "C'mon man"'s from any african american or otherwise with-in "ear-shot", on referring to her as "Chinky Eyes", as in "yo Chinky Eyes, you got an extra smoke?" and has that tell-tale hairless patch of a knifer on his forearm that all but prevents any more direct show of displeasure on anyone's end. So you can just well imagine what the other meetings are like that are in relative walking distance from the apartment.