“Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok,” is the answer you get from Ms. Lee everyday after you ask her, How’ve you been? She saw you yesterday, you know? She knows a full day’s work; a warm cup of nite-cap sake. It ain’t good for her hairline, but Mr. Francis up here hedging, and all you got is a sparse bang, feint. Her reply, “See you for breakfast.”
AF85’s plazamayor playing on KOSS-green headphones while you cofFEED the toilet catching bonus points off the Michael Jackson plaque on 125th. Scholars that shake your hand are the best, but any that half-look you in the eye are the ones you say “Hi” to on the subway later upon calling them scholars. Teeth marks and that girl in the Bronx that didn’t deserve all that, but still won.
Faded fall days. Springtime bloom, tho. All that emotional stuff in changes of weather that people complain about more than praise. West Children’s Youth Center from the YMCA in blue t-shirts flood your subway car. The fellah next to you taps your shoulder, and you and he move on down to give future a chance. His name is Troy and Troy teaches you an easy handshake if you’re ever caught next to energetic kids. It goes like this ^>^<<^>^<<>^<^><<^. You share with him the memory f AF85’s plazamayor:
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