fancy

the common man doesn't get inventive with his creative rights when it comes to the post-electrical thinking of the late 20th century. mondern revolutions end up leading to the thoughts of the working class being overthrown by such a horrid replacement as that of the upper class and when the two collide in such a sudden and improper clash of ideas, it can become violent. as it goes, the everyday joe shmoe would not help his comrade if it came down to a life or death decision. most people would rather save themselves then save someone else.

jimmy blunts
home plus is us

We baggin' ounces in the back of the mosque Ostrich on, Wollriches, three Quarter-ness A.D.I.D.A.S. with Stan Smith's The grams on the stove And Aunt Lo about to come to the Lab-o She givin' me some credit for clothes That's the slang word for bricks, dicks Analyze you never know who's lookin' This deranged world - where snitches is Enterprisin' Black man hold on, like Magnums in the Wind Cause when it get cold, parole give a homey like ten What's the prognosis: drugs, guns, and ounces of goldfish Fly reefer out-town, bitches is stone six And birds back in 18 and played C.R.E.A.M Gray beemers, it's lean new A.D.I.D.A.S jackets, flippin' up small dean Visualizin' portraits, fresh cuts Brand new Porsches Going wit hand-to-hand, servin' the Source Tuna Salad and Puma rackets pushin' through the projects, captain Get your money, yo show me no slackin' We drive the meanest Joints shoot through Medina with a Evisu Jeans and Nina's Stop by Juniors we hittin' cheeba Briefly, crackers observe You got the undercovers Niggas just love us, we know they suckers You know what? - What? Mosey don't be nosey yo! Watch these fake niggaz wit these Thank You cards Them shits is bogey Snitches in the hood up to no good We would kill alot of motherfuckers but the timin' ain't good So while my bankroll climbin' I be out on consignment, breezin' Key's with 29 letter melted cheeses All of my papers now in real estate White folks been doin' this since '69 It's billions in killer weight So prosperous moves wit the jewels, with Wu Nikes on It's cool don't ever act like niggas ain't true

The subway doors open. A hobo enters, holding a bottle of windex in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other. He says: Which is the better time to read Dostyevsky? Winter?

He sprays the windex.

Hobo: Or Spring?

He squeezes toothpaste out of the tube.

Japanese girl: Spring!
Hobo: You are correct.

-F train

true!

It was right out of a movie, I swear.
Like that movie Kids, sans AIDS and Chloe Sevigny.
There was four or five of us, all going back to Lydia's house from some bar or Chinese restaurant that served underage kids. She lived somewhere on the Upper West Side and her parents had a pretty nice place and went out of town all the time, and as the saying goes, when the cat's away the rats will play.

I was with Molly. Molly was a cute, blonde girl who grew up in Manhattan with a mother who smoked pot and a dad with one testicle, and somehow ended up entering a fancy private school the same year that I did. We hit it off immediately and ended up dating for about a year and change. When you're young, being with somebody is a big deal. Hooking up with someone is an even bigger deal (anyone remember second base?) And when you're the first couple in your grade to lose your virginity to one another, it's the biggest deal of them all.

We decided that tonight would be as good a night as any to finally go through with it, and with Lydia's house being free from parental presence, who were we to deny our most primal desires? We were a great couple; a power couple, if you will, of our grade, and no one was about to tell us we should wait. Sure, 13 is a young age to be so sexually active, but in some cultures you need to be married by then in order to be socially accepted. There was no one better at that point in our lives that either of us would have been comfortable having sex with. Besides, we were young and potentially in love, and I can't deny that being drunk helped us overcome some innate, premature self-consciousness that most teenagers have.

As the elevator door slid open onto the 6th floor, we swaggered sloppily into the hallway where we took off our wet shoes before entering the apartment. Lydia, who was my friend as well as being Molly's best friend, had agreed to let us use her bed on the condition that we put towels over the blankets so as not to dirty her virgin sheets. Lydia supplied us with the towels, showed us to her room, and closed the door on her way out.

Awkwardly, Molly and I approached the bed like a couple at a shotgun wedding, knowing full well that this had all been decided before hand. We were naive, yes, but not stupid. Both of us had watched porn before and knew what sex was supposed to look like, even if we didn't know what it was going to be like. We got on the bed and disrobed, giggling at our inadequacy and bumbling attempts at being sexy and adventurous. We rolled around in the moonlit room until it felt like the right time to pull out (no pun intended) the condoms.

Molly and I had taken health class and new the risks of sex, so she had sent me to the deli to buy the condoms, an event that I accepted as a rite of passage of some sort. The man behind the counter must have thought I was joking when I asked him for a pack of Trojans, and I can't say I wasn't a little nervous asking for them in the first place.

All of our practice up to that point was somewhat basic, but the difference between watching someone have sex and thinking, "I could do that easily," and actually having sex is monumental, especially your first time around. We acted like bad porn stars, trying to finagle a plethora of positions and still have fun. I started on top, and just like in the movies, she said, "Ouch." There was a minor amount of blood, but thankfully we had been laying on the towels.

I'll spare the intimate details, but I came and we got dressed quietly, sitting next to each other on the edge of the bed smiling, as if we had just accomplished some great feat and were expecting to win an award. We didn't think about what our friends and family might think, or how it might change the way we act or the way we felt about each other, we just new we had done it and we were glad to have done it together. I put Molly in a cab, kissed her goodnight, and got on the subway. I didn't feel any different, nor did I feel particularly older, as I was expecting to feel, but I knew what had happened was not as big of a deal as I had previously believed, and I grinned the entire way home.

His instincts took over.
Run.
The boy's only mission in life, at that very moment, was to catch that train, so as not to be late for school, as was his modus operandi. He slammed into a business man carrying a briefcase and rebounded right into the open doors, mere seconds before they closed. With his heart racing and his lungs attempting to suck in as much oxygen as possible, the boy chose a seat next to an attractive young woman and turned up the volume on his iPod. He had made it, and for all he cared, the rest of the subway ride was for him to relax and prepare for another long day at school.

"The sun is beautiful, and today is beautiful." The man thought to himself as he stepped out of his small, but pleasant, apartment on the Upper West Side. The sun was just breaking over the tips of the taller apartment buildings on Columbus Avenue, and some stray rays of light fell onto the side streets, hitting the trees' blooming branches and making people wonder when summer was going to arrive. Even in the city that never sleeps, early in the morning in some parts of the city the air goes dead, and everything becomes eerily quiet for a few brief moments before a car or a taxi comes rushing by, carrying students on their way to school or a father rushing to beat the traffic.
People start to welcome the days' beginning rather than fear it, when spring fully unfolds. The air smells clean and empowering, and there's no more need for hot coffee, but if it's iced, it's in high demand. All of the sudden, birds are chirping, joggers are running, and people are sitting in the parks simply because it's a wonderful day.
But it's only as wonderful as any given person chooses to make it. For some, the winter is their joy and to watch the snow fall slowly and sadly is more comforting than to stare into a clear sky and wonder how far it goes.

Seeing as how he caught the train he so desperately wanted to catch, the boy got off the subway one station before his own, seeking food and coffee before his day actually began. Walking along Columbus Avenue he realized he was having a better morning than most, and attributed it to the fine spring weather. He took no notice to the commuters bustling past him, for he was certain nobody but God himself could turn his day sour.

The man decided that today was as good a day as any other to begin work on his newest project. He was an artist, of course, and needed to constantly create new pieces in order to keep his brain stimulated and his body working. He was getting older, and he knew this, but tried to forget it as often as possible. He had not been with a woman in years and concluded after many a night alone that it was not his own fault, but rather the women of the city he inhabited and their insufferable ignorance and lack of understanding of art and culture; that which he admired and endeared more than anything else.
His stomach told him to forget about that for the time being, and his mind followed by sending a series of messages to the muscles in his legs, which moved him farther away from his house and closer to breakfast.
The older man too, noticed no one, as many artists are known for doing. For he, like many great artists before him, was almost always so consumed with his own work and ideas, that his thoughts were his haven and although many people excused this as impoliteness or arrogance, the man's head was simply too far in the clouds for his feet to reach the ground.

8:30. The boy thought to himself as he waited for the cashier to ring up his bagel and coffee. He had more than enough time to pay and enjoy his meal before heading to the first class of the morning, so why not eat in the park?
Practically skipping up the block, the boy thought of girls and friends and life, but only in passing, right now, he had more important things to think about. He waited impatiently on the corner for the light to change and hurried across the intersection when it finally did. A homeless man sitting right beside the entrance to the park lifted his tired hand and asked for change, to which the boy replied that he apologetically had none to give.
What a shame, the boy thought, I've got all this breakfast and this man could never be allowed to share it with me.

The man crossed the street slowly and placidly. To an observer the man may have looked drunk or even dead with the way he was walking, but no one was watching. He smiled to himself as he tasted his coffee. Looking around he noticed many people were drinking iced coffee, something which he despised for no apparent reason, he just believed coffee should be served hot. The sun was coming over the park beautifully by this time and the air was getting warmer.
An outstretched hand appeared in front of him, and almost knocked him over. Being startled had incidentally startled the owner of the hand into backing away, but by that time the man was already inside the park.

Some kids are better people watchers than others. They notice the folks walking around who resemble ghosts. The untouchable. The boy was good at watching, because he had grown up in the big city where everyone is out to get you at all times and if you don't stay two steps ahead of the game then you might as well be dead. He knew the ropes better than most adults, and he trusted his instincts. He was street smart, which, in the streets, is the only type of smarts you need to survive.
Today, though, his guard was down. He was enjoying his bagel and coffee a bit too much to notice that an older, somewhat sleazy man had sat down at the bench right next to his. As soon as the man said something, things changed. The boy instantly turned on his heels and acknowleged that another person was now involved in the equation, whether he liked it or not.
The boy turned down his iPod, and asked the man to repeat what he just said, wary as to why the man was there in the first place. The man went on to tell him that it was a gorgeous day and that he was an artist, blah blah blah. All things the boy had heard out of adults mouths' before. Uninterested and anxious to get back to his meal the boy tuned the man out and brushed him off with his deeply embedded city style.
The man moved closer, so as to attract the boy's attention, and the boy again, stopped what he was doing to give the man a few seconds of worthless blather in hopes he might get the picture and leave.

The man said, "You know, I'm working on a new piece, and my studio is right down the block. Why don't you come take a look for yourself?"
The boy said, "No thanks, man, I gotta get to school."

With that the man made a sudden movement with his left hand towards the boy, and to the boy it seemed that God himself actually meant to turn his day sour. The boy's first instinct was not to run, but to act. The boy's hand quickly slapped the man's hand downward and in a split second the boy was at his feet, immediately taking the position of power. Without a second thought, the boy's right hand connected with the man's jaw and a sharp crack echoed off the oak trees behind them. The boy cocked his arm back and with his left hand he took hold of the man's hair.
CRACK.
The man fell to the floor weeping and unable to comprehend the series of events that had just occurred. Without hesitation, it seemed, things had gotten heavy. He looked at the ground while on his knees and saw the boy's coffee and bagel sitting on the pavement peacefully, waiting for someone to pick them up. He peered up at the boy's face just before he felt a white-hot flash of pain to his ribs. The man fell over and curled into a fetal position in an effort to curb the pain he felt all over his shaking body. He coughed once, tasted blood and felt his lungs burn for air. The boy took a step back, as though he was done, and the man exhaled, praying that it was over. The boy looked him straight in the eyes, took a quick step forward, and before the man could ask for forgiveness, the boy took all of the anger and hatred he had in his body and kicked. The man's head jerked back and blood trickled out his mouth. He lay still, not knowing if he was dead, but hoping he would pass out soon.
The boy's instincts took over.
Run.