hepp me out y’all

alrighty.

 

where to begin?

work was surprisingly busy. also surprisingly, i was in a great mood ALL day. saturday lunches are usually not the business in my restaurant, not in this economy anyway. after work, i stopped in times square to see inez at work then came home, picking up a bagful of apples and motherfucking oranges.

so…i walks (yes, walks) my ass in the kitchen to slice and dice my fruit to enjoy with my nice, ice-cold bottle of agua. tonight is definitely a chill night. a good book and some fruit…a night for reflection….

the year’s coming to an end…i found an old notebook that i apparently started at the end of 2007/top of 2008 filled with grand ass dreams and goals. some of them i’ve addressed, tackled, or completed…most i haven’t. the reasons for incompletion (read: excuses) are endless. and i’m sure that in the last weeks of december and top of 2009, i’ll start another notebook (that i also won’t finish) filled with more grand dreams and goals.

ah fuckit.

lemme quit pussyfootin’ y’all.

straight to the point:

i’m in the kitchen cutting up my goddamn apples and urrrnges, i reach over to grab the cutting board..and i see some shit that i…i need yall to help me understand.

now, i’m a pretty sheltered dude. i’ve never smoked cigarettes or weed. never got a prison tat with a lighter and a pen. never been jumped or even punched in the face. never ran up on some mark busters or murked any punk ass bitch niggas.

so…

what i need summa yall…um…more…”worldly” (read: hood) readers out there to tell me…. is…

um…

is THIS a crack pipe????

 

 

i seent this beside the cutting board. apparently, my wacky, tacky roommate (one of them) did dishes (after letting them pile up for days) and left this there. a short, three or so inch piece of round glass. broken and burnt on one end.

i clutched my pearls.

should i be concerned that he’s gonna steal my shit to sell it?

should i return it to him and tell him he left it out?

should i call the boys in blue and tell em he tried to attack me while in some drug-induced rage? he does have a sweet ass plasma tv in his room that i could use….

i just don’t…know how to recognize shit like that.

i mean…he’s a…um..dancer. used to make big bucks dancing several nights a week, but now…this damn economy…he’s dancing one night and is like…three weeks from eviction. works ONE night a week, but puffs cigarettes and weed 30 hours a day, 9 days a week.

note: i find my recent fascination with coke/crack/junkies absolutely hilarious.

yo soy clueless.

your thoughts?