published in Volume 1, Issue 2 on March 15, 1994
8-10 bottles later I was fine, fine. Crenshaw & Slauson was buzzin'. Rich metal cruising the streets, all zippy-de-do-da-ing along. Smoke-daddy and me sat at the bus stop and chug-a-lugged. Across the street was where I was from in the first place. But I never knew about that, you know, that was way back in '74 when my Poppa put his fist through my face. Now he dead. He rolled along with the 9th Street for a while when they didn't have no automatics, no golden $$$-making pea-shooters, no quarter turned S-guns, no lady-lady 45s, no S&Ws. Just sat with his $yndicate and punched his ladies, his kids. "Tss. Boy ya gonna git it," he said. Zap. I get up and down I go again. That type of shit, some heroic 5-year old. Now it was just me and Smoke sitting down. I didn't wanna think about all that shit anyways. Nice hot day in L.a. that's all. 23rd Street Happy.