sideward glances…

6 train…

my game…

same old same. 

it's astounding how no matter how many times gothamist posts the rules for subway etiquette, no one gets better at riding the train. 

so as I get in the crowded by the doors part of the car I see, that 20 inches past the door is the great empty…

so I excuse myself and here the tell tale teeth suck of thug life. 

the kind of thug life that inhabits the high school a Ross the street from the bastard's office. 

flashback: I'm trucking in from forest hills… 

same train doorway scenario…

"please step into the car so I can step in"

nothing

"PLEASE STEP INTO THE CAR", and I push in…

hard

"yo, I'll fucking cut choo", says a 14 year old girl

the bastard smiles in his trench coat and sunglasses and growls…

"I'd really like to see that"

she shuts up. 

now:

so thug life teeth sucks and throws his arms back as if to stop me…

but an irresistible force will not stop…

he tries to wrest my bag but my arm goes up and some poor Indian lady collects 5 pounds of anodized aluminum into her back. 

rule  573 of subway etiquette: step into the fucking car stupid. I sleep soundly on this

I get into the big empty and turn around. 

rule 731 of being a bastard: never turn your back to an asshole… you can't see what he's doing

thugs give me the sideward glance…

then looks at his girl who was looking at me the whole time. 

she slowly shakes her head "no". 

then it's over. 

I go to work…

and thug life goes to one of the bottom 10 schools in NYC for his last 17 days in the system before he goes back for summer school. 

yeah…

I'd like fries with that… thug 

yes

yes

y'all

—the bastard

...on shilling

ok jerks.

it's shameless self promotion time.

the bastard takes photos.

the bastard also sells them.

you should buy some and make me rich.

go here in order to do so

DO IT NOW! there's whiskey to buy and you need to fund this

—the bastard

rough night, yo!

you ever have one of those commutes?

you know the ones where you leave work late because shit totally blew up in your face…

and your washing egg off of it…

only to find that the seven train isn't running…

so you take the 6…

to the E…

to the G…

and them limp home in time to see that the seven train is running again?

yeah me too.

I made a manhattan and got a double cheese burger with bacon to make up for the heavens fucking me over for the last 48 hours.

what's your plan for cosmic bullshit?

—the bastard

…on breaking and entering… and pepsi

flashback:

do they expect us to come into work that day?

that depends, do you plan on getting stuff done that day?

nah, what are we gonna get done?

well let me put it to you this way, do you want me to come in that day?

I'm not coming in, shaking his head.

okay. I'll see you at the airport then.

now:

the bastard likes himself a bitta parklife and folks can argue what park is best but mine is the best.

no

really

up yours.

mine is the best. we got a fucking Pepsi cola sign in ours.

it's a goddam antique.

and after months of the gate being closed… it wasn't so the wife, the boy, and I sauntered in.

I popped off this sweet panorama and we walked the nearly finished site.

on the way back, a foreman from the laborers thug union tells us we shouldn't be there.

I acknowledge that we saw the fence open and were clearly in error and would leave and we headed for the fence.

waiting for us in his puffy oversized sweaty brooks brothers shirt with cinched belt was the project manager.

he sort of had that hourglass shape… but in the bad way.

he cocks his head and puffs up for the pantomime.

limping for weeks… I stop limping because the bastard is gonna step correct to this yob.

you can't be here.

sorry man, your foreman showed us the door. the fence was open.

you can't be here.

you need to calm down.

you can't be here.

YOU. need to calm down.

the fence means you can be here.

no mate. a sign that says KEEP OUT tells me I can't be here. an open fence means that it's open.

what if you and yours get hurt.

then, pointing my bastard finger, then I fucking hurt YOU mate

he went his way and I went mine. and I got this sweet photo of the Pepsi sign.

—the bastard