Night In Spanish Harlem
Once upon a time, there was a man. A man who thought he was born in the wrong century. But who the fuck was he to argue with the will of the Almighty One?
Bring peace, where peace is absent ! Bring love, where it is not to be found. Bring understanding, where it is all but non-existent !
Now this guy, he was sick of all the bullshit surrounding him on all sides. The pretentious righteous, whose ego’s could fill a football field times infinity !
The down-and-outers. That’s whom he strove to emulate. And why the fuck would any rational man, assuming that he was, want to do something like that ?
Because that’s where he thought the TRUTH was to be found !
Ah, yes. The TRUTH !
Who gives a shit about that, you say ?
Well, this motherfucker, the object, no, make that star, of this small tale, yeah, he does.
So this is how it all went down.
It was a Saturday night, New York City, and my man, Jack , was shitfaced. Seriously shitfaced.
So he decides to cop some coke up in Spanish Harlem.
Now he’s been there before. Kicked some ass and had his ass kicked too many times to recall in that shit-hole.
But he’s comfortable there. His people !
So he walks Uptown, 110th and First, to be exact. Knocks hard on his dealer’s tenement door, too fucking tired to figure out who’s doorbell ringer belongs to whom.
And to his motherfucking surprise, someone, who the fuck knows, buzzes him in. He opens the door and prances his sorry ass in, heading for the stairwell.
Sorry, Jack, no elevators in this motherfucking building.
So he’s walking up to the fourth floor. Stepping over some serious crackheads on the way. Se la vie.
Now, even though he’s fucked up to the extreme, he’s got some wits about him. He’s conscious of the fact that he’s in dangerous territory.
Now the weirdest thing happens when he knocks on his dealer’s apartment door. This Puerto Rican chick answers it. This honey who he’s been fucking on and off for the past half year or so !
“Hi Jack”, she says, and she throws her arms around him, sticking her tongue way down his throat, grinding her pussy against his groin.
Now, the truth is, he really liked Marita. Thought she’s something special. But he saw from the git-go that she was more fucked up than even he was that night.
“Carlo, we got a special guest”, she screams out, before she rushes off to get another hit off the crack pipe.
You want to know how this motherfucking story ends?
It ends with Marita and Jack, in bed, crying and making love to each other, as if that was the most important thing each of them could possibly do on that particular night.
And, to be perfectly honest, who the fuck are either you or I to judge them ?
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