(b.o.l.b., vol. 4) -django reinhardt-

8/22/2019 (b.o.l.b., vol. 4) -django reinhardt-

1/24

borough of lost boys, vol. iv

-django reinhardt-

*by someone toe-to-toe with the music*

(frankie leone, just a man)


2/24

-bitches over money-

*by someone who appreciates friendly customer service*


*

! *i always want to lie about that afternoon. say i heardshots cry out from his pistol. describe to my friends how

stuyvesant parks pigeons scattered like winged buck shot.howthey fell. or how he fell. the final scene of my imaginary westernset off the myrtle ave j in bedford stuyvesant, brooklyn.

" or some bull shit." mean truths arent as pretty as mean girls. they arentmade for the silver screen either. i wont see flaco again but

whether hes dead or alive the last time i saw him on his stoop he

was breathing.*

*

"*six of them stand like the concrete columns holding up

the myrtle avenue subway trestle theyre under just outside the


3/24

park. most are around my age- sixteen. except one. hes in his

thirties. none of them are dressed for a game.

" pants sag down their hips. light glints off gold or silverwhen they smile. reds their clothings predominate color. even a

white boy knows whats going on with that, they arent keeping

it a secret- theyre gangster killer bloods." chains around their necks tell the neighborhood theydont experience the daily grind. theyve chained themselves to

the game.

! someone wiser than i taught me something thats madelife safer: not making eye contact with those who intimidate you

is folly. someone keeping his eyes stuck to brooklyn concrete

stinks of fear. troublesome cologne sprays on him or her without

hesitation.

" soft tourists give contradictory advice to other softtourists.i raise my eyes and nod in acknowledgement beforeaccelerating my walk.

" i dont know them except the oldest. actually, i only knowof him. i dont want more knowledge.the feeling isntreciprocated.he speaks.


4/24

" whats poppin young buck? knows you aint tryin todiss a nigga frontin like you doesnt know why we out here. let

me talk to you. we holdin triple stack mitsibuishi e pills. nicks of

coke too. its that fire! i knows you coppin round here. i got

you.

" i stop walking. bad move." no disrespect man. flacos got me. he said to drop hisname on anyone that talks to me on my way to his spot, i

answer without thought.

" the kids look at each other and smile. this is a problem idont need.

" the man responds, that so white boy? thats what hesaid? where that spic be at now? he still posted up on pulaski

street? i want to holla at him.

" i stay quiet." ight. i respect that. listen, these little niggas aint gonerun your pockets. they aint gone whoop your ass neither. they

even gone let you walk back to the train with that enchilada

eatin mo fuckas shit. you gettin paid with all that. paid to tell

him somethin for me. feel me?


5/24

" its too late to start walking again. im committed to theconversation. i stay quiet. he moves his body within a few feet of

me. a large finger rests on my chest.a bracelet with heavy goldlinks and a plate engraved with the letters gkb slides around

his wrist." he gives me his message." he aint workin round here no more. if he does heworks for me. you heard? tell him i know where hes at.

" my eyes had broken from his. i engage his glare again. hefinishes.

" aight then. have a nice day bitch." a cold smile splits his features while the j trains dinconsumes myrtle avenue.*

*

" *falls wilting towards winter. still, flaco sprawls on thestoop in an over-sized white tee and baggy shorts ending below

his knees. ive never seen him anywhere else. seems like he never

leaves. he usually has a black and mild, tall boy of bud, and bag


6/24

of utz potato chips. theres a bodega down the block. i wonder if

they deliver.

" this dilapidated buildings stoop always struck me as astrange place for a twenty-four pharmacy. he sees me and sits up

straight.

" que pasa little homie? what you need? holdin doublestacks today. teddy bear pills. i know you feelin my x. for you i

can do two for twenty. aint got yayo for you. gone have to come

back mignona for that.

" i dont know what to say. my mediocre poker face speaksbefore i do. he responds to it.

" what you trialin and tribulatin bout pobre sito? niceday. you gone get high. you aint got kids. you aint got bills. yo

rock star lookin ass probably got a fly shorty. you kissin lady

luck nigga.

" he laughs.i give him the message i carry. he leavesalaughing mood.

" flacos silent, contemplative. his eyes stab across pulaskistreet. they seem to pierce the blocks of section eight housing,


7/24

ninety-nine cent shops, bodegas, and liquor stores obstructing

his stare.

" the absence of words roars my heart to a drum roll. helights a black and mild with a white bic. i notice an old cigarette

burn on his right palm.

" not knowing what to say i ask, howd you get that scar?" i point to it." fucked around and slapped hands wit el diablo a whileback. you aint got to worry bout that though. sit yo ass down.

" theres a bulge under his shirt at the waist. i have a goodidea what it is.looking this problem in the eye seems better thanit putting holes in my back. i sit down.

" im hesitant to blunder into the quiet. he doesnt sayanything for a few moments of forever.

" tell me what you know bout hookers chico."

sorry flaco. just did what you told me to. cant blameme. i promise not to come around here anymore.


8/24

" he spits back, you listenin? i aint talkin bout themniggas runnin they mouths in the park. i asked what you know

bout hos.

" im not in a position to argue about our discussions topic." i dont know. used to be a lot on kent ave before hipstersstarted coming to williamsburg. theyve got diseases. shoot

smack. get slapped around by pimps. that kind of stuff.

" his eyebrows wrench down in anger." you dead wrong bout all that son. thats some ignorantshit. mi madre was a ho. she werent sick or a fiend. moren

anything though: momma werent givin her loot to no nigga

with a feather stickin out his dome. you hear me maricone?

" it isnt my day. this is twilight zone material. i wonder ifhes high. this could be my last conversation on earth.

" yeah man. definitely." he takes a long drag off his black and mild." my momma used protection. you know bout thatright?


9/24

" condoms?" he shakes his head." aint that simple. she handled business like aprofessional. werent no ones poota. some mug didnt want to

wear a rubber shed bounce on his ass for sure. with or without

her paper. my ma dukes got wit a union though. you know what

that is?

" i proceed with caution." they protect workers. didnt know there were unions forhookers though. its not legal.

" one side of his mouth lifts in a smirk." your mind es paquito. you needs to think like peecasso.abstractly. my moms had dignity. that was the union she got

down with. that was her protection.

" i dont understand why hes telling me these things. imjust grateful i might leave bedstuy.

" that was smart. she made her own union.


10/24

" his expressions pacified." damn right. im gone keep it real with you though. somefaggot ass nigga thinkin he was some kind pimp tried to fuck

with her shit. i was mad young. almost lost my momma to that

maricone. she told me all bout it. know who savet my moms

chico?

" who?" her unions rep. nigga brought her in." i dont understand." his tone sharpens." quit interruptin then. her union rep was a cheap assbottle of rose sittin on a motel table. cut that bendajos throat

wit it. ear to ear. mad surgical. stained them sheets up so bad

even one of them hood ass motels couldnt keep them shits.

" if theres an appropriate reply i cant think of it. imbeginning to understand what hes saying though. i let the

sounds of his block have a turn in the conversation. across the

street a fat landlady reminds a tenant its the sixth of the month

at the top her lungs.


11/24

" eventually i take a chance." " you dont have to kill anyone flaco. if anythingyou should just set up shop a little ways out of the neighborhood.

its a big city.

" he smiles." you know what my mommas pain showt me playboy?" what?" bitches over money. lots of hustlin niggas, like theseones talkin tough by the park, got shit backwards. think they

pimps. they gone get they minds right.

" whatre you going to do?

" not a damn thing. the union reps gone holla at themniggas.

" he pats his waist. the butt of his union reps outlinedthrough his tee shirt.its plain hes made up his mind." i ask, in broad day light?


12/24

" his smile seems appropriate." momma always said when you fuckin leave them lightson.

" he laughs. we listen to the land lady and sirens of apassing ambulance for more moments of eternity.

" novembers gone turn to july round here. best get to thetrain. leme bless you wit a couple hits. they free.

" good looking out man, i reply.

" i palm two plastic-wrapped pills and start walking. half-way to the j train iregret my mediocre thank you.*

*

(details modified out of respect and fear. also for the page.)

*


13/24

-the devil has blue eyes-

*by someone who kisses with them open*


*

! *it isnt reality." but it is. im ambling through the basement of my psycheto find him. or her. the one who blew the fuse to the light. one

foot dream-stepping in front of the other im looking for

trouble.*

*

" *with clumsy purpose i wander to the street he lured meyears back. the stretch of asphalt where i got a few of these scars.

hes still here with his friends in my memory.

" the driver of the mercedes sedan holds the same glock 17.hes nervous. he brought the tool of a killer without the right

mind to operate it. the lump of metal and alloys more of amenacing accessory in his grip. he must be new to this.


14/24

" the others are experienced craftsmen. theyre workingwith their hands though. they did the night i remember.

" they all act like im not here. the streetlights are sparserin this part of my mind but i know they see me. ill wait. ive

always waited years for this single moment of reckoning.

" its my experience devils have blue eyes and darken aspirit as long as its owner needs them to. the sames true for this

guy who calls shots in the dark here.

" his posture, as usual, is slouched.the windows to his soulare clear and lifeless.in this timeless neighborhood i can stareinto them with nothing to lose. he knows why im here.

" a toothpick moves around in his lips but doesnt fall as hespeaks.

" why you here playa? i aint tryin to beef wit you. im abusiness man. werent nothin personal.

" the toothpicks spat on the ground. he turns his back andwalks towards the car. opening a rear door he finishes.


15/24

" you politickin. think yous the only punk i twisted up?some other mofucka probly done handled my ass by now. i

suggest you get to steppin.

" in his own way hes never lied. i cant see why hed startnow.

" the frightened driver turns the ignition key.i turn up mycollar to the twilight of my neurons and stumble faster.*

*

" *my stride focuses on my way into the bedroom." this is where i shared newports (among other things) withhim. hes still here- wasting away below the surface of my

consciousness.

" i think he was a man once. where a soul used to be is avacuous space now (and then). he offered it to me her with a

clean syringe and an introduction to inner city projects.

" an overflowing ashtray smolders. daylights filtering intothe after-hours of my skull through drawn shades. i stand and

watch him come in and out of consciousness.


16/24

" his pollack face is still prettier than mine. his volcanicblue eyes still brim with dull energy.

" during a slip into existence he notices me. a smile finds hislips before they mumble, why the fuck would you come back to

this shithole? theres nothing here for you. whatre you going to

do? kill me?

" he forces a weak laugh and fumbles for a smoke. heresumes after lighting the last cigarette in a soft pack of

newports.

" ill save you the effort soon. if i havent already. yourewasting your time. get out of my god damn bedroom.

" in his own way hes never lied. i cant see why hed startnow.

" lids close over his dilated eyes. he drifts back into non-existence and i take the burning cigarette from his fingers. before

starting a quicker gait i fill my lungs with a long drag.*

*

" *here she is. sitting at her kitchen table in my mind.


17/24

" its definitely her. barely pretty, exceedingly intimidating,and eerily charming. im sure her androgynous hair cut still

encases surgically sharp intelligence. her eyes project the mean

brand of assertiveness i remember.

" i burned my peace, self-worth, and pride in her name." my insides fester while i stare. it feels like hatred." a pen in her short digits marks an onion crossword. asusual shes unaware. im not discouraged because i have all

night.in my cranium thats an indefinite amount of time, andive already given her most of myself.

" standing toe-toe with her a truth connects a haymaker tomy thoughts- this isnt an act. it never was.

" shes oblivious to herself. oblivious to me." in her own way she never lied. i cant see why shed startnow.

" she finishes her crossword. my visits finished.my sprintstarts to the only one left to blame. the person id prayed i would

never need to look in the eyes again.*


18/24

*

" *the dead-bolt on the door to this apartment of mybrains tricky.

" i manage none-the-less. a misspent youth helps withmisbehaving locks. i drop my bag next to the door and take a

piss. aggravated, i notice theres no toilet paper in the bathroom.

" its unfortunate theres no one else here to holdresponsible.

" after washing my hands i look into my bathroom mirrorand smirk. ive always wanted blue eyes.*

*


19/24

-django reinhardt-

*by someone toe-to-toe with the music*


*

! *death looked sexy in my grandfathers hands." the lit fuse to his mortality always burned in one of them.he gave everyone he met a good look at it. that fuse looked like

lucky strike unfiltered. two packs a day.

" the smoked mesmerize me creeping from nostrils of hisroman nose. it reminded me of silk. the kind that lines luxurious

caskets. those grey rivers flowing from under his black mustache

thrilled me. they poured like twenty-year-old scotch. the same

they serve at plaza hotel funeral parties.

" he presented grand spectacle after spectacle. each startedwith the click of a worn zippo. their level of skill was impressive

for anyone. especially for a perpetually broke bus driver, card

shark, and thief.


20/24

" one born to illiterate parents whod just stepped off ellisisland.

" to me those cigarettes smelled like the american dream.like everything he did, for better or worse, my poppy smoked

like he meant it.

" even during chemo.**

" *no one except him could touch his guitar. ever.

" whys it have that design around the hole and not theblack tear-looking thing, i ask.

" he flips the instrument around and holds its back towardsme. my green eyes absorb it. made in spain is branded onto

the polished wood in neat stick letters.

" poppy explains, cause spicks made this one. not uhbunch uh hick cowboys. those bastuhds know how tuh make

sumthin beautafull.

" a seventeen year olds musical tastes ask, can you playany punk rock?


21/24

" leaning forward he lights a lucky with his tarnished silverzippo. the words fuck karl marx are etched on it.

" a hundred proof stare smacks me behind the ear beforehe extinguishes the lighters flame. shut ya stupe-it face, he

says glaring into me.

" his face holds chestnut-brown ice-picks.after a frustrateddrag he continues,askin me sum garbage like that. yuh gotrocks in yuh hed?

" im struck silent. his voice and the things it says aremysteries ill never truly understand. he was born to a different

new york than me. that city only exists as ruins.

" ruins in the minds of deceased immigrants dyingchildren.

" few have ever earned both my fear and respect. poppyhas. my automatic beef with anyone over thirty wont step up to

defend punk rock. i ask a more careful question.

" what do you play then? whose songs?


22/24

" he places his cigarette far to the left between his lips. bothhands begin tuning the guitar. after a grey exhale he responds.

his enunciations just as clear with the lucky in his mouth.

" jang-gos, he says." whats that?" yuh mean who. only thuh most beautahfullsunuvabitch yuh ever heard. was missin uh bunch uh finguhs.

uh gypsy. only one i evuh trusted. uh frog too. been worm food in

some graveyard for uh while now.

" never heard of him. sounds cool. whys the guy yourfavorite?

" only mans ever made me jealous. plays thuh kinda stuffmakes yuh sane, drives yuh crazy, and takes yuh back again. day

yuh great nan sent my ole man off uh ruff-top in harlum he was

lissnun tuh jeng-go. we know cause he lef the reckuhd on the

playuh. jang-go played music tuh live tuh. played some tuh die

tuh too.

" as he finishes he makes the sign of the cross.


23/24

" everyone told me he fell. your mom pushed your dad offthat roof?

" ma werent on tha roof with im but she shore as shitpusht him awff. thuh way the ole man foldid ain uh simpull

thing. yous too young tuh unerstan.

" im not a little kid. only a couple months til im a legaladult. dad isnt big on talking about dead family. i might never

hear and really want to know. tell me. please poppy.

" still tuning, the half of his mouth not holding a luckyglides into a smile. he lays the guitar across his lap and moves

the cigarette into his fingers.

" yuh know my folks came from naples righ? thas initlee.

" i feel a little insulted. with instant regret i interrupt." i know where naples is." he doesnt care for this. his index and middle fingers pointinto my face. the lucky between them irritates my eyes.

" shuttup kid. im tawkin here.


24/24

" sorry, sorry, sorry, i repeat quickly looking towards thefloor.

" he continues, naples, in itlee, is uh city where dumbiesdont las. its uh city uh thieves. yuh learn quick an get tough

fas. if yuh dont sumbuddy tha did might intraduce yup to uh

straight razuh or pistull.

" he pauses. his expression seems more thoughtful. hiswords are slower when he resumes.

" tuff don always mattuh though. my ole mans proof.even thuh streets uh naples dint get im ready for guinea

brawds. they can put yuh six under jus as easy as any gun or

knife. get wha im tellin yuh kid?

" great grandma was a handful?

" he smiles at me." yuh got tha righ. wanna hear sum jang-go?" hell yeah, i whisper with awe-filled anticipation." poppy puts the lucky back in his lips to play his guitar.*

(b.o.l.b., vol. 4) -django reinhardt-

Documents

Transcript of (b.o.l.b., vol. 4) -django reinhardt-