Monday, November 2, 2009


We jumped that iron horse on a southbound course
Heading to the east village on a bombing run and a drug deal yeah for real
Weed runs out - marijuana drought
wanna cop that ounce that O Z of fresh trees
to place in the pipe and light
it's late night
the east village is packed
with bar hopping wolf packs
we weave thru the mass mad fast
She did not tell the dude I was coming
dealers can get crazy paranoid
new costumers and new people they try 2 avoid
they sometimes get annoyed
She rings his bell he answers cuz he wants this sell
The lobby door opens we enter the center like entertainers
bending the first floor corner
He opens the apartment door weed smoke mixed with cigarettes cancer and a contact high is what I can get
smoke hangs in the stank windowless apartment that resembles the bat cave
He eyes me suspiciously she quickly introduces me plainly
He pulls up a dirty white chair so I sit there
Weights and a total gym are strewn around the tiny one bedroom
covered in doom
colors of gray and black clash with a large off white abstract oil painting
his abode is blanketed in joint ash
the painting rises above his head with a jagged slash
he sits on a black disheveled couch scattered with miscellaneous papers
the painting peaks like a white smoky mountain
the domicile is eclipse with dusty trash
she passes him the cash
in exchange he gives over a portion of his stash
He’s watching cable TV of people fighting with swords fire hoses and karate
he sits up and rolls a thick dope doobie
it’s nearly perfect like a cigarette
time passes instantaneously
the J gets past and burns fast
I give him a sticker
He flings it on the jumble of papers
She is feeling the high the next swap no is the reply
We say later to the guy and hello to a get high

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