Copyright K. Omodele 12-24-04
His voice barely filters through my earplugs. From my table in the back, is like watching a sitcom with the volume way down.
He barks. "Yo, Fronz, grab the horn."
Looking like JJ from Good Times, Fronz leggo the dice and hops on the phone. I'm sure he's dialling Virginia Beach.
'Sheed returns to his table in front of me. He meets my eyes and shakes his head, sighing with the weight of the world before plopping in his chair. I just nod in recognition. Holidays...always rough.
At the table to my left, Wolf and Bass hide hands from each other in a game of casino. Wolf is Grizzly Adams from the Mountains in West Virginia and Bass is this ever-cool, surfer dude. Whenever Wolf opens his mouth, he sounds like a Harley, idling. Smells like one too, exhaust fumes like stale Camels. Last week we made him take a fresh. He's due for another shower any day now.
The Uptown Saturday Night hip-hop mix on Power 98 must be on because the younger Brothers have their headphones locked on while they catch the game or throw the dice or strategize over chessboards. From what I can suss out, Jay-Z and that new one...wha his name?...Young Jeezy must be on the airwaves. Anyhow, doo-rags bounce and heads bop. And, wha de fuck, I might as well pick up back smoking because the air is a mish-mash of Newport, Camels, and Tops smoke. My lungs vex, vex, vex. In a few minutes, I'll have to suck some relief from my inhaler.
Anything...everything...but no tears.
But always, with determination, we refuse to shed tears.
Never. Ever. Shed no tears.
Copyright K.Omodele 12-24-04