Streets of New York. Mark Anthony

for her to read on. Nervous, Lindsay handled the pages carefully trying not to damage them.

      She knew her brother Pooh had tried to keep the pages neat. And that Pooh had kept this side safely tucked away from the rest of the world. Most importantly she knew the reason. The others sat on the edge of the leather sofa pretending not to listen to the words which now came in her whispers. Lindsay realized that she was feeling relaxed also, almost comforted by the poetry her dead brother had penned.

      They looked at her and tried to ignore the way she chuckled at odd times. Maybe they’d think she was crazy and leave her alone. She wanted to ask what effect the poems were having on them, but fidgeted with the idea too long. Lindsay continued to read scanning their expression as she occasionally smiled at her brother’s intended misspelled words. Lindsay saw how they deliberately looked away. They seemed uncomfortable with the lines. She paused and leafed uneasily through pages before she heard the fat man speaking softly.

      “Read a little louder,” he said in a quiet still voice that made her realize he had been listening all along.

      Lindsay was pleased and immediately heeded the request. Her voice rose lusty and loud with her brother’s secret verses. Maybe it will spare my life. She believed that the words gave her courage, Lindsay read on.

       When first I knew I wanted to be so much like real gangstaz from the old block. They were kingpinz and bozz going hard, sitting pretty on colozzal stackz, gentlemenz working with crazy dimez pozzezzing helluva knowledge with tight gamez. I want to be thoz hustlaz living in the phattez cribz, the smoothz whipz. Hand over fiz, me and my niz trizin’ big chipz. Enemz schemz for C.R.E.A.M. that all mighty scrillarz. I want to be richer than the puppet-mizer juggling stringz with judgz and politicianz attached to my enz. Dangling from my every whim no clue on what I might do next. I’ll try invezment my cheddar to make my community a little better place for dez to arrez me in. Dirty politicianz juz ain’t helping and they ain’t helping me grow either. Robin Hoodz for greenz I’ll continue to use kings’ ransom for poor living. Nah just kidding—I’ll use my money to buy more bling. Nice ice baby. Thez thingz take heart.

      Lindsay cleared her throat. She studied their faces and felt the power of her brother’s words surged through her and brought about a calming effect on her unwanted guests. Two rose, whispered something in Spanish, turned to the fat man who quickly waved them off. They walked to the door beer bottles in hand and spoke and one walked out. Only the fat man and another stayed inside guarding the door. And now there were two, Lindsay thought. The fat man waved his arm.

      “Squeeze is taking an awfully long time to get here. Read some more then I want you to call him and ask him nicely to come see you. Let me hear some more. Your brother should’ve stuck with that shit maybe he’d still be around,” he said with the big-headed comfort of an arrogant boss.

      Lindsay did not want to call Squeeze. She thought for the first time in the last month, this was the only time she didn’t want him to visit. Her mind was gushing with thoughts and before she read on, Lindsay made a suggestion.

      “I’ve got Grey Goose Vodka, the best. There’s Henney, Hypnotic, Bicardi and other stuff to drink,” she said.

      There were no immediate reactions. Lindsay was about to continue disappointedly reading, until she heard:

      “Bring it all out. Yeah, bring ‘em out.”

      They shouted and clapped. Lindsay walked to the kitchen. She was followed closely by one man who immediately started grabbing bottles of Bicardi, the Hennessey and Grey Goose disappeared from her shelves. Then he rejoined the fat man, splitting up the bottles.

      “Bacardi for me.”

      “Let me try the Henney. I’ll mix it with the Hypnotik.”

      “Now she can read all she wants. This will hold us down ‘til her man comes home,” the fat man said and guzzled.

      “Someone gotta go sit in the parking lot. We want to get some dough outta Squeeze before we kill him.”

      “I’ll go. But let me have a drink first.”

      “Go ahead read some more.”

      “Read all you want, ha, ha, ha,”

      Once again Lindsay heard the name of her lover dropped. She didn’t understand the rest of what was being said. She could only guess that it wasn’t good. Lindsay was happy to oblige with the request. She needed a plan. Her survival depended on a good one. It was this in mind that she engaged them in some more of Pooh’s poetry.

FAKE ASS WORLD

       Man I never grew up watching the world created by tell-I-lie-vision, I witness reality. True life-gangster-lessons on how and what to hustle on the black top of my block. Fuck school. I took street classes and learn different ways to set up shops. Lessons about how spots go. How to cook the raw multiplying rock investments extend clientele dividin corners into sections was on the afternoon program card. Mornins spent independently studyin ways to get new custs communicatin wit’ eye. No words needed to steer junkies in a herd crack coding.

       That made the hood jumpin hot. I mean that rock was the shit and it went hopping mad beyond the hood. I can’t even leave the rest without someone’s mom annoyin me. Always chasin me aroun bein a damn pest from hell. All for the get high. She cant see herself sinking low. She suck-my-dick in a quick sec if I wink. Women givin their asses. Men stealin from families. Crack is that precious gem. They come buildings fill. Everyone walkin round their heads to the ground searching for what you could never understand. U see them comin scopin you out. Zombie minds on over-time tryin to get sump’n for no thing. Stank smellies threatenin suffocatin in their housin project. Any block you go theres hundreds or more; it was ez to recognize crackhead stroll. Persistent begging for pennies. Unwashed bodies and dirty hands gears smellin like stale sewer. They loyal custies. Smiles replaced by frowns the walk with head to the ground outside the monster reign big time. Get in where you fit in. Runners captains and lookouts makin money. Spent my day dreaming how I’m a get my bling like I’m in the rap game or sump’n. Nice with my ice a true bonafide hustler. I wanted all that pimping in my world cuz I realize at an early age it wasn’t just all about the Benjies; it was about how those Franklins added up in the real world.

      Lindsay delicately turned the page and watched as they drank. The fat man laid his gun on the nightstand. All the others seemed relaxed by the alcohol or maybe it was the poetry. Some closed their eyes. Her living room became cloudy from cigarette smoke as they relaxed, lit up and chilled. They chugged the alcohol while it dawned on Lindsay that the words written by her dead brother was having an unexpected overpowering effect on them. It fueled her to read on.

       I’m grown nineteen and I’ve attained this consciousness that money makes the whole worl go roun. I don’t have to be in school to kno geography and over stand the fact that if you didn’t have the necessary capital them financial institutions gonna treat you like third world not fuckin with you. Who want a give chance to a black man with no money? What type of employment you gettin even after finishin college? Maybe I be oblige step n fetch a little sumpn, sumpn startin in the basement if I qualified. Desperately I keep my ones in check. My nightmares are as real as sunlight. I was doomed from the womb ever since the doctor slapped me on the ass my hard knock life began and will last for the rest of time. It’s a everyday struggle to learn life lessons, deep down where I’m from survivin racism part o everyday livin. This the last class. Everyday I awake it becomes more difficult to breathe. Feel like I cant help myself I gotta fight cause those in power the one in charge at kapitalistik AmeriKa be doing everythin to keep the Poor man down. Early I could remember the riches seduced me. I was a shortie on the road to the riches doing what I want and fell in love and commit to the streets. Nobody is gonna tell me how to do this. I’d rather die than bitch-up, switch or run and snitch on my fellow squad member soldiers of the street army, Squeeze, Show and