The City binds
“Man, I was playing pool last nite, drank
a few beers, and about midnight I was heading back to the
barracks. I was halfway home, when somebody yells:
“Ya stupid moderfoker!”
and the next thing, everything goes dark. When I opened my eyes, I had this
terrible pain, and I was flat on my ass. Some bastid, suckah punched me, man. I
sure would love to know who it was, man. If I ever get my hands on his focking
ass…” He went on and on, and he never found out who hit him.
About a year later when I was leaving for my
new assignment, and was saying my goodbyes, one of the guys told me he did it. I
was waiting for a Taxi, when I ran into Dan. He was
from the west side, and we got along pretty cool.
Funny how sometimes here in the city,
peeps sometimes don’t get along, you know. Black dudes,
and Italians; Paisans, and Boriquas; or Irish and Italians. In the hoods sometimes we
kill each other in gang wars. Stupid nonsense, yet when we’re a thousand
miles away from the city, a cat, from say Staten Island,
and another from the Bronx will act like brothers, regardless of their
ethnicity. The city binds us, it’s
who we are…New Yorkers, man.
“What’s going on, dude?” he says.
“I’m leaving, man!”
“Going home, uh?”
“No man, I’ve been reassigned tada Fa East...going
to the Pee Eye, Dudio.”
The P.I. is the Phillipines Islands.
“Dam an am again, doodio! I’ve been hea
going on fo years, hopping to get me an overseas gig, you
ony bin hea two, and you’re on your way to Manila. Damn man, an am a gin, ya
sho be un lucky mofo, bwo.”
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