I come from sanitation strikes, cockroaches, gutters overflowing with oil-water, and crack viles. I lived in an 6 story garbage can, just west of the Hudson river, 17th street housing projects, lower west side, N.Y.C. things were rough in those days, sandpaper underwear 2 sizes too small. I used to wear them, while curb shopping and being careful not to touch anything icky. We got my sisters whole bedroom set from one of those sales. GARBAGEPICKERRRR! I remember that name like a lie I’ve forgotten I told. It still hurts sometimes so I try to forget. It’s not easy. I did have a couple of friends though. There was Rat-boy, dirty boy Tom, and Tito. Tito taught me graffiti, one of the few trades available in New Yorks third world. I was 12 when Tito got shot, he was 16. He dissed someone elses piece and paid with his life. Taxes were high back then. I lived in an American toilet, and the tidy bowl man wasnt my friend. He’d drive by laughing, and pointing his finger at who was to be next. Mr. man made all the important decisions, after all it was his toilet. I still hate the sight of blue uniforms. I remember salsa music, Puerto Rican flags, and corner store domino tournaments. Quarter drinks, pixie sticks, drive-by shootings, domestic violence, double locks, broken intercoms and catching my key as it was thrown out the window to me. I’ve bled the tears of 1000 hungry stomachs, and stood strong facing the slaps of a giant. I was supposed to call him dad, but he is NOT my father. I remember stretched out wifebeater tank-tops, gold plated Christ heads, boomboxes, shell-toe Adidas, and that bow legged crippled man on crutches. Some kids used to laugh because they didnt realize they were crippled too. I did, I saw it on my mothers face. Some things just arent funny. I come from a place that knows nothing of neighbourhood watches, and youre lucky if the guy youve lived next door to for 5 years remembers your name. I remember police sirens, winos, sewer-rats, hallway fires, and freezing my ass off in the winter. Heat was supposed to be included in the rent. It never was. I lived a life of holey shoes and hand-me-downs that were never the right size. They said I was small for my age, but I think I was malnourished. I rode these days like a champion bull rider, my 8 seconds,17 years. But I remember... I’m not a garbage picker anymore.
Posted on: Fri, 08 Nov 2013 18:05:50 +0000
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