Thursday, April 17, 2014

Bus Boys & Poets, Lex Vegas edition, old skool - Chucky P Yung

Sean and Lloyd for a week etched out future NBA stars like Kenny Anderson, Howard Eisley and a young Jalen Rose whose father, Jimmy Walker, incidentally was the biggest legend of Boston high school hoops. Noted Globe columnist Bob Ryan would write that Jimmy Walker was simply the best, playing at the Zenith of Boston’s hoops influence on the national map. Jimmy Walker was part of the original Boston Six.

The gene. “Know your limit’s this year kid remember the gene our family carries, oh Charlie, I’ve read about this, I believe it, I honestly believe it. And you and your sister got it.” Part of what made it difficult for my sister and I to be around my mother for any great amount of time were the constant reminders. "Repression is underrated. "I know ma, all dads siblings, the cousins, we’re dead, I’ll be careful, aunts and” “My father!” “yes all alcoholics” “Your grandmother.” “I Know baby.” I loved calling my mother baby. “you have to be careful, because your so hyper and impulsive, Junior in high school now” “Ma, come on stop, don’t build this up.” “I know, it’s not that big of a deal this ACE thing. I know your thinking kids are thinking your wierder than any of them thought and" "Ma!" God dammit. Astonished she sprang to her toes, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, that's it, you'll be great." "Thank you." And as she jettisoned I shook a pre tend time, god dam

And it was all smart, good stuff and I didn’t want to hear. I was freaking out and was angry she didn’t leave me alone for more than five seconds so I could gank one of her Xanex to sidestep this I'm now in the ACE programing making an appearance. Besides she had cause for worry. I was the leader. And she’d seen the following. She understood my impulsivity. She understood the “gene.” And more than anything she knew the loss of our entire family since my seventh grade year I couldn’t say no. I’d do anything for anybody. I didn’t give a fuck my fools gold.

“And me, we both got UNLV and the Young Guns.” “You better be careful, you do too much for some of them, you’ve already been to court twice god I need a zanex.” The instant an incident she brought up triggered the zanex to stop the chain reaction of remembrance of the odder shit we loved to keep in the trunk, repress and push forward. And she’d retreat to the phone, smoke some ciggerret’s until our next round. But we were good. I just had to check-in.

Summer lenses, to me was private beaches, yacht club parties, sailboats, sandy unsupervised bars, seersuckers, khakis or something linen, unbuttoned white collar shirts, clam bakes, Polo sunglasses and space, lots and lots of space. “Sick” is a summerhouse bigger and just as well equipped as the pad in which you live year round. “Sick” is cold beer while attending the Cape Cod summer baseball league. Phat is sailing to the Vineyard or Nantucket for Sunday brunch. That was white to me, and that part I really liked. No adults on board for it is here where kids are trusted or everyone else is just so busy and or important that nobody seams to mind this younger gentry taking liberties with off limit toys. “Sick” was a place where the children have no jobs and the adults are available only on weekends. Only then can they enjoy a climate that they have worked so hard to cultivate. An environment where clearly their children not them are the primary beneficiaries, that’s what I mean by sick not that I care about that type of life for it’s not my definition. I was just reporting to you how my neighbors spent their summers.

My sick shit is crazy kids, poor chaps, hungry teenagers, hyper know it all’s. Phat for me is tight backspins, flashing speed, new Adidas and heavy bass lines buttered over dysfunctional language that rhymes back and forth. My shit is underdogs that make it, tight-lipped crews, Budweiser brews and a mastery of the fine art of getting shit for nothing, ha, ha, ha, that’s just a short list of shit I deem dope. You’ve already heard how I spent my summer.

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