Friday, May 8, 2009



As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I navigate its barren landscape and lunar-like crags wearing a pair of Jordan IX's which ironically look like moon boots, comfortable but ugly. The eerie silence which seems as though it could have persisted for Milena is interrupted by the sounds of my two diamond encrusted Jesus Pieces clanging against each other in a display I like to call the "clash of the Titans." Girls are usually impressed by this, but perhaps at this moment in time, I am out of dress code. Unsure whether or not dress codes here are like those present within nightclubs, I carry a white button-up shirt in my hand, as I have since stripped down to my white T-shirt. It's getting kind of hot. Oh sh*t...

As I stop to ponder where it is I am actually going I see the silhouette of a bearded man who smells of cedar and sawdust. Did the din of my clanging jewelry disturb his sleep? Is he offended by my seemingly pious yet gaudy display of worship, or does he find it humorous and ironic? As these are not the most pressing questions evident within my mind, I simply do what any respectable man would do and offer to shake his hand. He turns around and gives me dap (a hood handshake), and I see the most perfectly locked dreads hanging nearly to his ankles. He sees me looking and says, "you know they call these dread locks because the oppressors in Babylon used to think they looked dreadful?" I nod, and continue to follow him.

I truly want to ask him where we are headed, but as he has a tendency to read thoughts he simply says, "c'mon. Think hard. You know why you are here and where you are going." This being said, I continue to walk until we pass a beautiful woman selling water-ice, (slushees for those of you not familiar with the Philadelphia vernacular), and I notice that while perfect in my mind, she lacks the one quality I usually find attractive in a girl. She's not Latina. What's going on? I approach her and order a grape (don't laugh) water-ice. It doesn't melt. Phew, I am still cool.

Soon I see a basketball court with a single individual continuously hitting jump shots in dark shades. I look closer and notice it's O.G. Lance. I give him the traditional Goodfella handshake and say "son, you can't play ball in shades!" He replies with the same last words I heard him say before his passing, "Ni***, I paid 300 for these shades, I'ma wear them all day and night!"He's also playing in a Coogi sweater, but doesn't seem to be sweating... I simply laugh and leave the court, tucking my Jesus piece and chain into my shirt. O.G's is bigger, and hood culture states that one should engage in this act so as to show respect and not embarrass oneself. I wonder if the same is true in porn gang bang movies like the Houston 500? If a guy is....umm..."bigger" than you (no homo), do you tuck it away and leave? Or are you lined up in ascending order?

I digress...

About 400 meters from the court (I can judge the distance from having run the 400m dash in High school) I see a large banner. I cannot decipher the name of this location, but I can make out the words 'Beer Pong Tournament.' As i look and walk closer I see a faded white and purple Sigma Pi shirt. It is Joseph 'Dago' Morrone. I then hear a squeaky high pitched voice and see my love Rosie Perez, who quickly affirms... "he's been waiting for his partner."

If this is heaven to me, is this considered heavenly?

Live, Love, Life


1 comment:

custom writing said...

I agree with you in the case. Its normal for people to make up their mind to think about fear of death at certain points of life. The last part of the post is brilliant. Thumbs up!