Sunday, November 7, 2010

Ground Zero

A ground of heroes
Trying to save those who could not evade the day
A day that will never fade
Many buried under a trouble of rubble
Graves, unmarked graves
Bodies broken and torn beyond recognition
An unthinkable strike came to fruition
The devastation of man made creation
The situation seems bleak has havoc was wreaked
The Twin Towers was a symbol of power
Took years to build knocked down in less than an hour
These buildings etched our skyline
Most took for granted they’d stand the test of time
Workers inside typing, trading, clicking, mailing, faxing, emailing, talking, telephoning, walking, waiting, goofing off, debating, thinking of tonight, that they’d make love tonight or overcome a marital fight
In an instant their lives were gone, gone, gone
Thrown into terror this should’ve been an error
It’s a nightmare instead
This fear
This smoke
Did commercial planes fly into the World Trade Center?
My mind can’t get around it
can’t understand it.
The smoke rises out of the copy room window
Thick black smoke
Smoke to choke
Smoke to kill
A smoke of death
I stare into the distance expecting to see The Towers materialize before my eyes
The words fall out of peoples mouths and rest on my ears
Did you hear! The World Trade Centers fell! They’re gone!
Trying to process
to compute, how many people worked in those buildings, how many kids will not have a mother, a father, a bother, a sister, a boyfriend a girlfriend, a close friend, an enemy, a loved one a spouse
MISSING is the word that is flashed across the TV screen
M I S S I N G
So many missing
Missing in action,
Lost, disappeared into a cloud of dust - just like that - missing
How they’re missing them
Missing them
Hoping wishing
Praying looking
Countless sleepless nights.
“What floor were they on? It’s a phrase
What floor?
How high?
In our minds we imagine
We do the math
How fast could they get down to get out
Breakdowns shout.
The trauma of the tragedy is woven deep in my mind
The trauma of the traumatized as a nation needs therapy
I saw planes crash into buildings people burned alive
We have witnesses to see thousands die.
80 stories high people jump to their deaths
In my dreams I see it again and again

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Love is a dangerous disease

Love seizes you unexpectedly
changes you makes you act crazy
Many are quickly overcome with matters of the heart
Love lingers and drifts in your vicinity
Love hovers suddenly like a helicopter
It makes no sense and at last love is blind
Love finds us as we try to hide and avoid the collide
Once we get a taste of love its flavor lingers in our mouth
its hormones stay in our nostrils
love hangs and dangles from our lips
as hands trace naked bodies with thrusting hip
Love overwhelms and drowns its victims in a sea of emotions
Love never dies and in many cases is a terminal condition so
don't run to your physician cause he can only listen
no drugs or prescriptions can be given to make it subside
Big love is riding high waiting for your reply
some try to resist but it's hopeless
I must confess taking the Love fall strikes us all
Falling in love could make you lose your grip and slip
It's simple and at the same time complex
Sometimes it adds stress
Sometimes love breaks up or ends is success
Some fall in love over and over again and again
like there is no end the two try to blend to one
at times love comes undone like loosely
tied shoes or knots the love just stops
Does love grow cold when it gets old
When too much strife breaks up husband and wife
At times some love lasts for life
Other times loves takes hikes not to return
too bad the burn
Love should come easily
should be free as can be

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Graffiti Bust

My day begins with two tabs of Klonopin
Trying to make my anxiety run thin
Today is my day at court
No way to abort
My hands tingle and I run to bathroom twice
My bowels loosen as fear runs through my intestines
Inside of me is a question
I keep on guess’en
What will be the fine
Will I have to face a judge and cop prison time
No way to rewind
Stuck in a bind
I pay my $2.25
For a train ride
Head down to Franklin Street
In the city summer heat
I committed a graffiti crime I was outa line
Busted by undercovers in an unmarked gypsy cab
Things went bad
Arrested on a loisada street corner I could not get escape
Cops surrounded me like a round up
They took my bag and stickers and asked, “What’s your tag? Dupplex?” they pronounced it
I declined to correct DubbleX
hands cuffed tightly behind my back
they took my wallet ID and sticker pack
I told them I was mentally ill
My leg started shaking they told me to chill
They asked me if I wanted to go to the hospital
I silently shook my head no
I had trouble getting into the back of the squad car
When the door was ajar
The portly Hispanic officer with a police badge around her neck told me sit down but first
I feared the worst
I did not want to go to prison
For my graffiti sin
But it was either go to the station in the blue and white car
or they offered the loony bin
I finally got in
I sat in the back begged them not to lock me up
I was nowhere near tough enuf when it comes to this stuff
The officer said you’ll get a ticket and go in front of a judge
My background will have a graffitied smudge
The round butch looking Latina officer led me inside the station
I could not believe my situation
She said maybe you’ll get off with a ticket
And we’ll 86 it
Then they found six prescriptions in my bag
The names of the medicines they could not pronounce
One officer flipped through the scripts and shook his head
I said maybe they will let me bounce
The Hispanic officer said you have to wait in the cell
Until the paper work was done then they’d bid me farewell
They took my belt and shoes
I sat there in my socks
Back and forth I rocked
Still in shock now I was locked
They gave me a pink ticket and released me
I was so happy to be prison free I could not see
Today is the court day I must face
A long line of people only one from the white race
All hoping to beat their case
Minorities like me
All copping a plea
One guy said he got a ticket for playing basketball in the park at nighttime
The sign said the park closed at dusk so the police made the bust
We passed the security checkpoint
They searched everything
Looking for a weapon I did not bring
I got upstairs a long line snaked through a large room
A guy behind me said plead not guilty
Another guy with dreads falling out of his head said
Back in the day he use to get up
Said graffiti is like a drug addiction
I need to grow up and get in remission
Finally I reached the window counter
I gave the woman I encountered my pink ticket which I had almost lost before when I switched to my new Ed Hardy bag
To my relief she said my case had been dismissed
The police failed to file their complaints, guess they didn’t care about this
I smiled and went on my way to do more graffiti the very next day

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Ethnic Domicile

Summer in Washington Heights
Dominicans open fire hydrants
releasing water at full pressure
The gutter is quickly turned into a river
People forced to hop over curbs to keep sandaled feet from getting wet
The water spews out like a jet
Kids dripping with sweat
Adults work a wrench to open the tightly twisted hydrant cap
Old coffee cans are held over hydrant as water shoots up high into the sun filled sky
Young kids get drenched
Garbage on the sidewalk leaves an unpleasant scent
Hamburger Meat gets grilled on street corners
Thousands sit on beach and lawn furniture in the street
In front of what used to be an old horse stable
Is now an electrical station
In front of dilapidated buildings
In front of ghetto shadows
Surrounded by lamppost light sitting in huddles
Lazily laying on bed comforters and sheets
Young mothers and children jam the stoop steps in front of the building forcing me to squeeze by
Kids draw with kaleidoscope of colorful chalk on the sidewalk
Loud merengue music is played deep into the heat of night boils
The music rises and burns from outdoor backyard patios and fries sizzle in the sun
Cold pushcarts carrying blocks of ice are pushed over cracked sidewalks
The sound of shaved ice as colorful flavors mix and melt in the day’s oppressive simmer
Thermometers reach triple digits
young women wear tight fitting shorts revealing their ass curves
Old women walk with black umbrellas posing as parasols
Young boys and men play baseball in traffic with green tennis balls a steel bat a square strike zone drawn on a post office red brick wall
People scatter as the ball is punished by the bat - zooms across the street at a rapid rate
Screams and laughter outside my dark window
Fights break out and nobody calls the cops
Grown men sit around squared tables and throw down white polka doted dominos
blunt marijuana smoke hangs in the humid air
cold beer and frozen water sales rise for bodegas
Iced coolers containing cold drinks and hotdogs get dragged and carried to the street
The black get blacker
The light skinned turn brown
The fair skinned burn
Young men stroll the hood in white wife beaters and play basketball bare-chested
hallway doors are propped open for a nonexistent breeze
street merchants fill the side walk selling junk at discount prices
way uptown in Washington Heights everybody waits for the sun to go down

Thursday, July 1, 2010

my phone is dying

talking fast
the battery won’t last
my phone is dying
it keeps on crying
it beeps and beeps
to tell me the battery is depleted
A new charge is needed
this phone call will end
can’t talk with my friends
all my phone numbers are locked inside this device
keeps singling me it’s out of life
my charger’s at home
I say fuck this stupid ass phone
Cell phones attached to waistbands
hanging out in pockets
swimming around in bags and purses
the cell rings I begin another frantic search
then curse when on its 5th ring the phone still can’t be located
Then the worst thing imaginable happens
the phone gets lost
The dreaded upheaval
It needs retrieval
You feel it in your chest
when your phone can’t be located you get stressed then depressed
Losing a phone is like losing your child
it's like a lover
always with you close by at your side
you call your phone from a prehistoric landline
and hear it ring again and again you hear your own voice message
you retrace your steps
go into stores
call the subway lost and found
but it still can’t be found.
The only number you remember is your own and your mother’s
Instantly you’ve lost all your contacts
all your friends your associates
if you’d simply blue toothed the numbers to your home computer
You sink to think of all the calls you’re missing
Yet you can still retrieve your voice messages
which merely serves to cause more anguish
you make a list of the people in your phone
suddenly you feel so alone
you weep and cry and moan
you could die
you want to hold a funeral service for your lost phone but you can’t call anyone to come
You dread the possibility that you may need to make new contacts and friends
you listen to your voice mail as people call again and again
they start to worry that something is wrong
you visualize all the texts coming in all un-replied
you see how much you have relied on technology
all your ring tones and mp3’s gone for eternity
You become religious and pray that the person who found it will have mercy on your soul they will call you to tell you they found your cell
But your phone is lost
how can they call you?
you hope and pray that maybe they will call one of your friends and they will
tell them who you are
You have nightmares that somebody is putting their grimy little hands on your phone
looking through all the nude pictures you sent to your lover
crank calling your contacts
these are the hard facts
you put up flyers around the neighborhood that read
“missing” with a snap shot of your
blackberry
iphone
flip phone
your sidekick
your rumors
you call your mom’s number
since suddenly she’s your only friend
she doesn’t even know what texting is
Your heart is broken - all hope is lost
you think maybe I should tell my service provider about all this
it’s too late international charges have been racked up
calls to Santa Domingo
London
Columbia
Tanzania
places you never heard of
all the service provider can do is offer you a new phone if you re-up for another year
You go to work depressed
try to recreate some semblance of your numbers
you ask a friend at work for her number
you become a detective, “Hey do you happen to know Lori’s number?”
You manage to get three numbers from there
you call each friend and accumulate more numbers
you wonder how you could make such a blunder
Your contacts are now at six
you sit shiva and cry because this time your phone has really died

Monday, May 17, 2010

Reclusive

I like to stay home alone in my own zone
unknown
I hate the crowds and the traffic
It’s all too drastic
I'm a psychotic derelict
Tired of red tape and rhetoric
In my mind things get hectic
I turn introspective
Myopic and self-explosive
Sometimes I don’t wanna live
So I sit in my solitude
No one to intrude on my foul mood
I exclude myself
and keep myself amused
Waste my time surfing the net
At least I’m not playing Russian roulette
With a hollow point bullet
I hate to go out and face the public
sometimes I get so paranoid I want to avoid everything
Safe in the cocoon of my room
Smelling the perfume of my gloom
I sit locked up in my 10 by 12
My personal jail cell where my creativity excels
Or gets repelled by urine smell
My own little hell
I hate seeing new faces
And going places
I get trapped in my own mind
held hostage in my house
accosted by loneliness
exhausted
I hate being on the go can’t take the city’s flow
I move too slow
Want to vanish like melting snow
As I sink to a all time new low
filled with anxiety
Trying to keep my sobriety
Hating nyc
Don’t wanna perform wanna stay withdrawn
Introverted mad perverted
encapsulised and internalized
Drowning in my own demise
Covered in an expression of depression
With inward eyes
Like Columbian coke is smuggled
I stay hidden in my struggle
Being reclusive is a means to an end

Monday, May 3, 2010

everything remains the same for clockers with glockers

I walk with a ditty bop
My soul is filled with hip hop
My jeans hang below my ass crack
I love to listen to rap
talk about firing a gat
I dream about being gangster
I want to live
and die gangster
I don't run with a crew cause I can hold my own
My rep will be shown
I long to hold a fat stash of cash
lamping on that corner trying to get that cheddar
More money can make my life better
I grew up in the streets with lots of welfare cheats while
I only had welfare to eat
Now my cheddar goes to buy clothes
ain't nothing cheap to wear
My gear is the latest style of the year
Got rings of bling I stay blowing blunt rings
My bullets sting
I’ll probably end up in sing sing
See death in the eyes of my pupils
I have no scruples
Lawless and heartless
cold-blooded
2-diamond earring studded
born with a gun in my waistband
grown up now I’m the man
dark ghetto nights don't faze me
cause I walk with a ditty bop
my life is filled with gun shots
I’m down with the illegal
My rage is lethal
Love getting into fights when I get mad tight
Jumping niggas on the regular
Top-notch competitor
I got long braids
my girl keeps my doo laced up
Life is rough but I handle my business
My stress escalates till I steam and evaporate
my enemies await a terrible fate
Their doom or mine is built on hate
I walk with an original gait
So I got my ditty bop and my black facemask
rolling up on suckers is completing my task
I'll be keepin’ it real to my last gasp

Thursday, April 22, 2010

I'M Da BoMb!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m like dynamite with nitroglycerin
so you better keep listenin'
I gleam to the extreme
got you at gun point
rapid fire makes you transpire
I’m dangerous - no need to discuss
my mental state is unstable
got the schizophrenic label
but I can still cause mass hysteria
when you see me in the area
I’m the bomb
droppin’ napalm on Vietnam
let loose like an escapee running wild in your city
hit you with a death blow with my fist and my elbow
watch me grow like an afro
not an amateur but a pro
when it comes to the mic I hold
get on a roll
eat microphones like the cookie monster
got hunger for adjectives not your average words
trying to reach to the next level
step back and watch me levitate
while I create
another state of mind
intertwined with rhyme
commit poetry like a crime
someone dial 911 because here I come
on the dead run
like a motherfuckin’ freight train
dancing with the insane
no need to explain stay far away from the sane
I’m lazy - a lunatic a medicated derelict
but I stay mad sick
got more rhymes then a hoe who turns tricks
by sucking dirty dicks
I’m the bomb
so now let me just explode before I corrode
deep in my mode
writing poems in binary code
lining up my zeros and ones
don’t try to analyze my data
or be down with the haters
got my poetic radar ready to spar
my words leave you marred and scar
like you just got hit with a crow bar
I jump in my flow like liquid lava
erupt like a volcano but I’m no Pinero
I'm a lyrical pharaoh

Friday, March 19, 2010

MorE STixS






Sunday, March 7, 2010

Psychiatric State of Flux

A hopeful sunshine breaks free in my mind
I leave depression behind
maybe for good this time
I get caught in the mix between the ups and a ditch
then suddenly I switch
like a change up pitch
trying to re-grasp my grip
from the deadly slip
energy fills my body like the life of an Amazon
I come back from the gone
and move on
a new concoction of medical toxins
I wanted to jump out the window
to the concrete street below
embrace death with a warm hello
a voice inside said no
you will rise from this low
get back in your flow
on and on I go
to my last intro-duction
next production
next destruction
I wanna hit the summit
over come it
look back and say I done done it
like a plane loosing altitude abruptly I plummet
I go down in flames
crash land insane
keep looking for a way to escape my brain
and still remain
hearing voices in my head calling my name
the psychiatrist and therapist insist
something must be done about this
want to place me on the disability list
my creative abilities persist
can’t find a way to make money of this
so I pound my fist
and get pissed

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Mr. Porno Head

I began by reading Penthouse and playboy
Going through my mom's boyfriends magazines
his milk crate helped me take my first step into porno
I looked at the photos when I was nine or ten
I studied magazines made for horny men
Showed the zines to my sister we laughed at what we saw
Bare chested women, women with no drawers
Soon I wanted to see more and more
my little dick grew hard
I'd pull out the pin ups and do push ups over them on the floor
From porno books I moved on to phone sex
I called numbers to hear recorded messages of women who talked dirty
talking about sucking dicks shaking big tits
Whipping and tying a cock to a vacuum cleaner
The stories got worse and meaner
Drinking piss and taking golden showers
I'd listen for hours
My mother was upset when she got the phone bill
I thought maybe I should chill
This was not my will
I'd masturbate till my semen would spill
A cheap and expensive thrill
To save money I found free sex lines
So when the bill came my mother thought everything was fine
To save more money and keep from getting caught
I used a tape recorder to hear about rapes and fucks
mostly talking with some voice over moaning
I listened to the same stories again and again
Fantasizing about mysterious women
I imagined how they'd look
The sex line had me hooked
I'd jerk off till I had scabs on my dick
Because I just loved to cum thick
From phone sex I moved on to video porn
My sister had a boyfriend who had porn movies
I popped them in the VCR
And played my dick like a guitar
I sneaked into the living room when no one was home
Sat in front of the TV and watched as women got fucked licked and sucked
I lusted for action
My appetite and salaciousness grew stronger
I drew pictures of chicks with big tits
while measuring my dick with a ruler
I wanted it to be big like the guys in smut videos
My life moved on while my lewdness grew more intense
A made up vision of women giving head
Every night I gave in to my sensual cravings
The facsimile played over in my mind
a porno movie in my brain making me quite insane
Straining my cock veins
Women licking pussy or me eating out the box
To get off my rocks
It was so hard to stop
I was a virgin for long duration
I was so stuck on masturbation
When I finally had sex I married
a fridgid woman who only wanted less
So I moved on to Internet porn
to really turn me on
Tons of pictures to see
To satisfy my licentious curiosity
Bestiality was now a common reality
White girls and Asian chicks who digged big black dicks
Wet pussy lips
Two girls naked in a French kiss
Blondes and red heads
Lesbians with dildos
Sodomy
Ass licking
Deep throating till throwing up
Cum in the mouth
Cum swapping
BDSM
Dominatrix
Fem doms
Drinking piss
Beaten and tied
Spanked red bottoms
Lesbian squirt
Orgies
double stuffed
Old women with young guys
Old guys with young women
Fat women getting fucked hard
Nipple pinching
Foot fucking
Fisting
Two girls in 69
Forced sex
Teen sex
Sexy Latinas
Fucking machines
I found free videos
Downloaded shit from Limewire
Played it on my iPod
Suddenly only porno got me hard
I decided to have real sex
Just one dick and one pussy
I want this to be my fantasy
Because I am Mr. Porno head
And I wish one day he'll be dead
But my addiction to porno seduction
Is my affliction

Sunday, February 21, 2010

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Fare Beating

I use to hop the turnstile
Back in the 90’s
the token cost $1.25 or $1.50
I'd stand by the bulletproof token booth
Waiting for the right time to strike
I did this mostly at night
I had to check the platform for cops
Did not want to get stopped
I looked around corners
trying to discover undercovers
they lurked in shadows
like ghosts with guns
if you got busted it was useless to run
hopping was easy when nobody was looking
you just pulled the turnstile back and slipped into the gap
got right through as long as you were not too fat
you had to wait real late until you heard the train pulling up
to jump the turnstile
You didn't want to stand on the platform to be detected
or get subjected to a ticket because of what you did
the fine was $50 dollars - a lot more then the train fare
you had to beware
I never got busted got away scot-free
Nowadays they fixed the little gap
Where that space was at
Moved on from the days of my fare beating ways

Thursday, February 11, 2010

BrOkEn WorDs

My words are broken cracked and bleeding
Peeling and misleading
Stepped on like coke burning
Like purple haze smoke
They’re spoken misspoken
Disappear like a New York City token
Ripped to shreds once they leave my head
Shot stabbed caught and nabbed
They’re broken to pieces like a puzzle
Words I guzzle my brain should be muzzled
They speak Spanglish a scrambled egg dish
Wounded like a soldier falling in battle
Bullet hole souls m16 rattle
Shrapnel lodged in your esophagus
Bum rushed trampled and crushed
Run over and wrecked
A hit and run
Whipped and chained
Churning insane
Tied and strained
Notorious and infamous
Hallucinating from LSD and Angel dust
broken words are heard over and over inside my mind
mixed up passed absurd
breaking like a curve
let loose like a canon
blasted from a boom box
totally unorthodox
ambidextrous and dyslexic
dissected and inspected
my broken words break like a wave
raped like a slave
exploded and imploded
running light years passed the sun
a train wreck crash landing
sinking like an anchor
words spilling black like a leaking tanker
arrested and detested
failing to stay sane
getting lost in my own brain
multiplied like atomic nuclei
released like radiation stickering the nation
confused with organization
broken words get lost like time
poetry is a victimless crime

Sunday, January 31, 2010

dubblex at pregunta

video


Thanks to Marilyn Thomas King for hosting La Pregunta and a kick ass show. Thanks to Dean Washington for videotaping. Thanks Fred Arcoleo, accompanying on guitar.

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Choices

Bring it
I sing it
Just gonna fling it
Go off the top and wing it
I got to do my best
So put me to the test
Let the troubles come son
And watch me overcome every one
This life is a constant fight
In the thick of the fight of my life
It’s life or death so i got to be set
it’s my survival
It’s my instinct
I stay on the brink trying not to sink
So bring it
Yet another day
Another trouble
For the dubble-X
What’s next got to be ready for whatever
Death haunts me, wants to sever my connections
But I’m gonna survive this hurricane weather
Whatever it takes
I try not to break
So bring it
I can curve and move straight
Through the hard times
The tough binds
I won’t resign
On the edge of crossing the last line
Dancing on my last nerve
Tinkering on the edge caught in a wedge
So bring it
Another bad job
Another rowdy kid mob
I motivate watch me create
I got what it takes since I busted out the gate
So bring it watch me sting it
I’m cooked but not done
I get stunned
Get knocked to the mat
then I snap right back

Monday, January 18, 2010

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Pass The Hat

You stand in hot uncomfortable noisy subways
Underneath the city
Musical notes intermingled with your passing jingle
Dollar bills and spare change find their way into your hat
You play and play until notes go flat
You are that street musician
the one to whom we seldom listen
Maybe you used to be somebody maybe you were never anybody
you’re here to make it big to get discovered and pick up gigs
You’re that subway musician where people are forced to listen
Your sets are quick in between the next train licks
Your audience never remains
They leave mid verse well before your last note
music jams with breaking steel wheels
Corporate high heels
You play along to public service out of service announcements
And the untimely wrong notes of closing subway car doors
Some got CD’s to sell
You’re homeless
A deranged junky
you don’t speak English
Trying to hustle in the rush hour bustle
Some stare many don’t care
Trapped inside their ipods
You play on though drowned out completely while trains come and go
You’re that subway musician sweat dripping on your instrument
You play for hours with no electric power
That street beat some smile tap their feet to your beat
Some look from encapsulated plastic covered windows at your non-stop show
Your music gets lost in the roar of subway wind you catch a short grin
Another dollar another dime another moment in 4/4 time


* Check out Saw Lady's blog by
Natalia Paruz where she posted this poem:

Monday, January 11, 2010

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

A POCKET FULL OF POETRY

Folded creased and smushed
Sat on and crumbled
barely legible
chicken scratch writing
Number 2 pencil used
smearing like cried out mascara
Sun faded
fingers stained from making Jamaican greasy beef patties
Extra words written in margins with detour arrows to follow
Cross outs and skipped lines
Life’s pace unable to grasp unfinished endings
A pocketful of poetry like a full belly
A mouthful of birthday cake
Words imagined
captured and retained in ink as it sinks into thin sheets of wood
Other words dance in my mind long forgotten like rotten cheese
Most times my pockets contain the contents of
Loose change jingles intermittently with an assortment of jagged edged keys
a partially damaged CELL phone lies dormant deep in my pocket next to a tattered bill folded next to some grimy ones
The usual pocket hole as pens and pencils escape like fleeing
prisoners in the cover of darkness
I reach inside my pockets to retrieve words
Reflections of VISIONS of the day
Slanted perspective

Hungry and complete at the same time
These poems pop up anytime like crime
Sometimes words replace nickels and dimes
In the local grocery store,
the cashier is aghast that I possess no cash
a pocketful of poetry leaves a man poor
My pockets can only afford metaphors

Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Money Changers

I got my check from the board of Ed bank
who got it from who knows
Who got it from who knows
so I got my check
put it in HSBC
first Amalgamated
Then HSBC
withdrew $60 cash
went to the deli
bought a bottle of water and a protein bar
Gave $4 to Brian cash register dude
in drawer end of day
2 of my 4 dollars goes to Juan the sandwich man in Deli
Juan goes to John the weed man to pick up a dub
John gives money to Jennifer, his supplier
She gives to Shawn who buys a strawberry filly blunt at the deli
His money is given to Miriam Liebowitz as change for coffee
She puts it under her mattress where her daughter discovers it 20 years later
And buys a pack of double mint gum and the money turns to change
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