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by Derek Davis
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Blessed with the African curse. Turn out the shine on the morning dawn. Step over the murky puddles covering the cracked sidewalk. Sweaty palms clutch slippery hope. Clumsily navigate the steamy subway sewers. Overpowered by the stench of urine and arrogance. Hungry for cigarette butts and dirty tabloids. Classy skin rags with long winded interviews of righteous whores. Dilapidated tenements home to teenage mothers, bastards and ghetto poets. Spit on the PC police as they brandish their population control nine millimeters. Inhale the marijuana smoke through the dirty glass pipe and fly uptown where you can sell your soul at the inner city swap meet.