the sounds of, "fuck, fuck, fuck. Mother fuck, motha fuck..." I grab
and reach for my phone blindly as the bandana I wear to sleep blocks
out not only annoying light, but what seems to be another beautiful
day I'm greatful to see again.
I rub out the nights sleep from my eyes and like a five year opening
presents on Christmas, I check my email to see what the day may bring.
Nothing outta the ordinary today. More spam about wearing the right
bra size and buying a house. I read through a few quickies and behing
to emerge from my cacoon, for you see I live at my friends house and
for the last two years the floor and a sleeping bag have been my bed.
Sleeping on the floor is nothing new for me, sometimes it's the best
I jimmy open the bathroom door with my knife because my friends
nephews locked it again. They're going to be nothing but trouble, but
that's only because the parents don't know how to raise kids. At 2-3
years old they can't even speak properly, but that's if they have the
baby bottle out of their mouth long enough to back to their parents or
abuelos. But I digress
I do the morning thing and I put on the same clothes I was wearing
yesterday. With school starting next week, I'm due for a hair cut and
the only person I trust with my canas is my friend "Cheech" at Jesse's
Barbershop. I've been going to him since before and after I had my
long hair, but in my line of work, looking like a decent young man
As I male my way through the historic "Brooklyn Corridor" I grab a
copy of the Times from a door step. I'm still wondering if the Times
will really go through with cutting out the California section. I grab
some eye candy as I make my way down Chavez and to my dismay, "Cheech"
is sick and won't be in till tomorrow. I thank the barber for the info
and I make my way back toward the house.
I think of what I need to do for the day and I make a mental list, buy
deodarent, drop of $25 for Harleys doggie food, meet V @5 to go to a
comic book store and them meet up with C @9 for a poetry reading in
Highland Park. By the time I get to Soto & Chavez, the heart of East
L.A. I decide to pay my uncles restaurant a visit for some morning chow.
"La Chispa de Oro" has been in Boyle Heights for 15 years and they
make some of the best food in town. The best way to describe it, it's
like your mom is in the kitchen cooking for you. Nothing fancy, just
whole some food. People trip out when I tell them my uncle owns the
place, they've been coming here since forever.
I pop out the times, check my email one more time and grab a cup of
joe after I order some chilaquiles with salsa verde. My food is
staring to get cold now and my uncle just asked me how come I don't
put down the phone and eat. I'm not on to argue with that. It's just
another Boyle Heights morning for me.
~ con safos ~