10/3/24
Solace
The club I owned was a clip joint. It was called the 9 o’clock Club. It was a corner store front with a second floor apartment.
Outside on the night wild streets older teens made a tower out of wood pallets. It was 20 feet tall. It was their lookout. They entered through an opening and climbed up the inside to post on its top and watch.
We existed nervously together.
They were a trap family, always strapped, and dangerous. But, from what I could overhear from their conversations from my second floor, funny as fuck.
They wanted inside the joint.
Management wasn’t happy and carded extensively.
Kids like them didn’t have ID.
I had a plan to friend them. We built a room for them on top of their tower while they were sleeping during the day. Like a forestry lookout tower room.
They loved it.
One of them was Solace, a boy I had met in the mid 90s when I was teaching with Bob. Solace was so quite. He always looked as if he would start crying. He was a sad boy. Maybe 11. One day I tied his shoe and when I lookd up at him his tear fell on my face.
A boy without consolation.
Outside on the night wild streets older teens made a tower out of wood pallets. It was 20 feet tall. It was their lookout. They entered through an opening and climbed up the inside to post on its top and watch.
We existed nervously together.
They were a trap family, always strapped, and dangerous. But, from what I could overhear from their conversations from my second floor, funny as fuck.
They wanted inside the joint.
Management wasn’t happy and carded extensively.
Kids like them didn’t have ID.
I had a plan to friend them. We built a room for them on top of their tower while they were sleeping during the day. Like a forestry lookout tower room.
They loved it.
One of them was Solace, a boy I had met in the mid 90s when I was teaching with Bob. Solace was so quite. He always looked as if he would start crying. He was a sad boy. Maybe 11. One day I tied his shoe and when I lookd up at him his tear fell on my face.
A boy without consolation.
My dream last night. Solace exists outside of it.
9/28/24
9/25/24
9/22/24
9/18/24
A Drink w/ Retha. 2018
Over a drink last night with Retha:
R: The reunion WOULD have been perfect except my husband started dancing with a white woman.
Me: No!
R: Yes, he was drunk and wouldn't stop dancing with her. Little Lamont tried to move her away but he kept dancing!
Me: What did you do?
R: I grabbed a bottle off the table, I was going to break it and go after him!
Me: Really!?
R: Can you believe that shit?
Me: ....You know I'm white right?
R: ......Oh shut up. Damn. I know that. ....
R: Not like you would dance with my husband.
Me: I'm no longer able to dance.
R: Still, you would not dance with my husband!
Me: Not even if he were single!
When I moved here in the early 90s my block was 95% black and *all* of the apartment buildings were Section 8. Retha and her husband owned the corner building.
Retha had a stroke five years ago. They sold the house two years ago.
My block is now cripsy white.
My 21 year old biracial friend recently told me while standing on my porch, You know your neighborhood is gentrified when white women are walking at night without a dog.
R: The reunion WOULD have been perfect except my husband started dancing with a white woman.
Me: No!
R: Yes, he was drunk and wouldn't stop dancing with her. Little Lamont tried to move her away but he kept dancing!
Me: What did you do?
R: I grabbed a bottle off the table, I was going to break it and go after him!
Me: Really!?
R: Can you believe that shit?
Me: ....You know I'm white right?
R: ......Oh shut up. Damn. I know that. ....
R: Not like you would dance with my husband.
Me: I'm no longer able to dance.
R: Still, you would not dance with my husband!
Me: Not even if he were single!
When I moved here in the early 90s my block was 95% black and *all* of the apartment buildings were Section 8. Retha and her husband owned the corner building.
Retha had a stroke five years ago. They sold the house two years ago.
My block is now cripsy white.
My 21 year old biracial friend recently told me while standing on my porch, You know your neighborhood is gentrified when white women are walking at night without a dog.
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