Ghetto Tales

We live 100-yards away from the liquor store, assuming you cut through the parking lot. Lori and I paced it off yesterday. There is a demographic that will tell me how lucky I am to live so close to the lq. If I get smashed and run out of alcohol I can stumble a 1/4-block for more supplies. I guess, but I’m not a let’s-get-plastered-off-our-ass kinda guy.

Foot traffic. A lot of characters walk by our house to get to the lq. I don’t mind it. Personally, the foot traffic is a bonus. I can amuse myself for hours by simply watching and nodding a salutatory “yo” or “hey” or “wussup” to the pedestrians. This abbreviated interaction cements a sense of neighborhood/community/brotherhood. Point being, living next to the lq isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.

40’s, specifically King Cobras, are the drink of choice in my ‘hood. I know this because, from time to time, I find an empty bottle or two on my curbside. Every time I find an empty near my yard I pause. I pause not out of irritation or frustration at the obvious disregard for my property, but I pause out of respect and awe.

40-ounces in 100-yards… My god, that is talent.
...and so it was written, shenry at 7/31/2003 01:27:00 PM.
...and so it was appended with .