Cold nights in the Bronx

How I remember those cold nights in the streets of the Bronx, with my hand frozen holding a bottle of wine, not the good kind, but the ghetto kind. Wild Irish rose, maybe thunderbird.  We would walk from Bronx River to Westchester Ave,” Sunshine “the store that had cold beer” and chicken” and marijuana dealers all over “loose joints” tabaco Suelto” 7 for five “siete por cinco” .come in get it. Don’t worry this is the hood the cops don’t care. We are Nuyoricans, and Blacks, the world has closed the door on us and we have closed the door on them; we do what we want! Society has told us it was ok. Being drunk or high and in a gang,was kool, I lived for it and couldn’t’ wait to do it. How many years did I spend in that insane asylum, America has given me? With a beautiful country 1500 miles away, vegetation all over beautiful woman, and lots of beaches to cleanse myself from the evil that was trying to swallow me into that whirlpool  of anger and corruption, “Fear is what they gave me” or my parents “yeah lets run to New York” Puerto Rico is going down!. That’s what the media says. The Puerto Rican Wave here it comes. Looking for better homes they found a nightmare; factories or sell drugs pick one. That is what I call opportunity. ,” hey” we all learned! Now it’s time to play catch up, doing things I should have done 35 years ago. Does someone owe me something? Yes! Me, I owe myself a kick in my butt for being so blind and allowing anger to make my decisions. I am alive and kicking so I have to say I survived along with my old friend Nite-owl,  Or Greg, who is doing great  in NY and living very Good. The man is a real businessman today. I guess the streets did teach us something, that I have definitely used, that is survival.

Dedicated to my best friend Niteowl who now is Greg.

Have a nice day :0)

Tyrone Garcia.

My book “Soap that doesn’t clean” will be out soon.

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