East Harlem

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic

Dismay and anger while living in the most annoying yet greatest city on the planet.

A Monday morning jam packed subway ride expresses so much when traveling on the 4 train from Brooklyn to East Harlem. So today, I take the bus. Mistake! The smell of a thousand fried chickens embedded in the down feathers of black puffer coats worn by potential rap stars… The droning scent of stiff hair products smothered on every Italian head… Dull sickeningly sweet perfumes cover the gross feminine stank of dirty white girls… while hairy male armpit stench dominates it all. Maybe I just have a severely keen sense of smell. That’s my senses being sarcastic with the rest of my body. They tend to not get a long when I run out of my Effexor pills. I open the window...no respite. Car fumes, exhaust, Taxi’s, shuttle busses, all clogging the traffic arteries. Neglected bus brakes screeching & screaming in both directions the entire length of Fulton Street.

A frequency that hurts my ears so bad, I want to hurt it back by vengefully organizing a September 11th bus attack. My scolding hot Starbucks Venti coffee keeps splashing onto my wrist blistering my skin due to a bumpy pothole every quarter of a mile. My IPOD isn’t playing because it’s doing that fucked up battery malfunction that requires me to take a number at the Apple Store & wait along with the rest of the pedestrians whom need modern technology repairs. Homespun Yoga Studio in Bed Stuy wore me out last night causing my joints to ache severely all evening. Dinner consisted of two spoonfuls of Peanut Butter because I didn’t feel like hand washing the dishes from breakfast & lunch. Sirens unforgivingly wreaked havoc at a nearby building around 3:53am which resulted in me tossing & turning as oppose to sleeping… then unwillingly switching on the television & watching a black & white silent film on TCM… why respectably watch a silent film when it’s appears no one else is silent! Like hearing Miss Rodriguez next door yell out eleven times in a row “CALOR CABRON, CALOR CABRON” which I think means something like “can you please send up the heat” as she bangs on the heater using the same pot she cooks white rice, sofrito, as well as boils green Ginseng Tea in. Why is the quality of life here equivalent to the quality of death?

I hate this city today. I hate this Brooklyn. I hate this day. Why does this only happen on the A C line? This wouldn't happen so fucking frequently anywhere else. Shame! Embarrassment! Anger! Yet we still just take it from this city. And pay the most to live here. $2950 a month for an apartment…seriously? Why? If some of us manage to be unbitter at the end, what will we have learned to take with us? Are our lessons of patience, strength & compassion the only karmic reward we get for getting screwed in this life? This isn’t fair. It’s not right. And how furious do I have to express my expressions to the fellow caucasian asshole sitting next to me who just looked over at the beautiful black Nubian woman who is sporting braids tousled down her back & securely said out loud to her “What part of Africa are your ancestors from?” She didn’t respond. But I clearly looked at him the way Rosa Parks looked at James F. Blake & I replied, "How about you ask your ancestors what part of Africa her ancestors are from!" He obviously was from the Midwest. He should be educated. The Midwest should be educated. Now I hate the Midwest too. And now I feel every black person on the planet is owed slave therapy. Should I mind my business? Should I shut the fuck up & eat my words, eat my pain, eat it all up, digest it & shit it out? Or will it accumulate & cause other complications? Hasn't it already. This planet is so stupid today. Earth- where you don't matter! Luckily this bus has almost reached it’s destination. I wish my therapist wasn’t all the way in Harlem. I know what she’s going to do & say when I unload all my bullshit on her. She’ll write my new prescription & say “Would you live anywhere else in the world?” And the answer is, “Never.”


Submitted: October 08, 2012

© Copyright 2020 Mark Anthony Parker Adkins. All rights reserved.

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