Life in the Ghetto

Memorial Day Weekend in the projects is celebrated a little differently - a literal zoo around here lately. Far too many people, never before seen, crowding the once opened parking lots and congregating by their vehicles to provide some sort of show for their social status leave a heavy hoof print. The leftover wanna-bes and unattended children looking up to small-town hustlers are searching for some type of father figure and end up tangled in a crowded mess.

In the black community, at least here, a finely detailed low-riding machine with the proper rims can mean all the difference in who’s “who” and just another chump with no street-cred passing off chunks of ivory soap for crack.

And then there’s the bass factor... Apparently an individual’s decibel levels on their high-fi audio system needs to, at bare minimum, possess the ability to shake the back fillings out of any weak teeth that the head may still hold, and congeal what’s left of the working brain into a mush of dead neuronal gelatin.

The combined aroma of rotting garbage, body odor, Kool Aid, Jheri Curl, Schlitz Malt Liquor, Lamar County’s finest skunk weed, and brain cells never met, becomes an overwhelming power house on the senses. It can be 2 o’clock in the afternoon or 2am; there is no stopping point in the ghetto.

Notice the last reason for the pool being closed.
Perhaps Michael Jackson should have moved into the Town Parc Apartments rather than move all that way to Bahrain.