… In which I wax poetically about a day with my uncle
The Mister and I always say that our kids are sheltered. After spending the day with my uncle, I remember why we are sheltering the kids:
Some random observations:
Why are there five guys standing aimlessly near an abandoned Rite Aid? And, hell no, I don’t want your number.
Let’s do the math:
I’m in my car, you are waiting for a bus. Nothing wrong with a brother taking the bus, I dropped the Mister off at the train station just this morning, but why you holding a forty bottle? And sipping from it? I also don’t need a contact high, so blow your smoke some other way. And do you really think I’m going to want to touch you after I watched you piss behind a dumpster?
Why does every other store sell liquor? And seafood?
Is it mandatory to have a crazy chick asking for change on every block? And why is the only person of non color trying his hardest to holla at every chick that walks by?
Are signals optional and that no turn on red, just something put up for a giggle?
Why do women walk outside with a damn scarf on their head that’s been to hell and back but snicker about my locs? Apologies in advance to my sisters with weave (I was once unbeweavable, myself) but how many horses must die for you to have blonde locks?
Why is there a stop-n-go ACROSS the street from a recovery center?
Pot meet kettle.