The MTA

The folks that work behind those bulletproof/chicken wing/kiosks in the subway are always getting grief from people. You know the drill. They lazy. They just don't got the time and energy to give you directions. Sleeping on the job. Yeah, you have seen those exposes via my girl Sue Simmons (you also notice how she doesn't give a fuck sometimes? I lurv her.) Anyhoo, I was strolling down the stairs to my station (Clinton-Washington C...wut? wut?!!) when I flitted my little eyes to see kiosk dude (um, I don't know his name, therefore he is dude) working out his Jimi Hendrix/Sly Stone (see, he colored and I live in Clinton Hill so there you go) fantasy on a Strat. He was just there, rocking out. So I'm like m'kay it's kinda slow right now he should entertain himself, being in a glass box of emotions all day can be tiresome. As I'm sashaying through the turnstill I turned back to watch the "concert" and smile at dude. He proceeded to stop for a moment, look up, smile and give me the black power sign.

I love Brooklyn.

Oh, and please don't strike again in the dead of winter. That wasn't very fresh. Thank you.