Something else I found. Tired. Still tired. Here’s the truth before the truth. My little brother would’ve been sixty-eight today. Can almost hear the two of us giggle, some day you’re gonna be sixty-eight. Sixty-eight, can’t even count that high, you ugly goobie.
Don’t want to fight about it. A man must have a code. No doubt. Thing with a code, shit get real you know what to do. The old man had been binge watching The Wire again. And he kept thinking of himself as Omar.
Homie, my homie, the young redhead reminded, Omar was gay, all his lovers got killed and so did he. By a little boy. The young redhead had a point. Maybe he was the black commander with the five percent body fat. Yeah, that’s it.
She had a thing for black guys. It was her idea to name his car, a black Chrysler with a big engine, major Hemi, named his car Denzel.
Have you ever been sitting around the house just ‘laxin’ and the music seeps in. Seeps in your body like the medicine began to take hold. Me, too.
Young redhead had begun to take interest in marathons and mixed martial arts. There is no chance of football or baseball or hoops. Bicycle racing, track & field maybe.