He walked towards me with an East Harlem limp, mean muggin the wind for making his ascent more difficult. Dude towered over his surroundings, city skyline dwarfed in the background like an unworthy opponent. Steady strides conquered the hill. Black leather set on broad shoulders. Furled eyebrows and a chew stick.
This cat wasn’t nothin easy. (more…)
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Rotting strawberries taste better than no strawberries at all. Still enough sweetness to hip you to what they once was. Vague memories of a vibrant life in its prime. Each bite, a hopeful attempt at a remaining vestige.
The trick is knowing when to pick ‘em. Well, you probably buying ‘em from a store, so the trick is knowing just how ripe they need to be to enjoy ‘em in time. This requires you accurately judging how quickly you gonna eat them thangs. If you intend to murk them suckas on the ride home, for example, pick the ones dark like a Sudanese sister’s shoulders. If it’s just a quick snack every few days, you might wanna go with the paler variety. The simple things make the biggest difference.
But right. You don’t know the future. Things may not play out as you intend. You get a phone call on your way home, for instance. All of the sudden, you deaf to them juicy berries all moist and shiny and sultry, summoning you from the shopping bag. When you finally get around to ‘em, they not what they once was…kinda like finally meeting Pam Grier and having to come to grips with the fact that she’s no longer Foxy Brown….damn! (more…)
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-amari
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