trueblue

Standing under the shady shadow of a square block apartment building, I can feel the speeding cars rushing air down the street, breathing the life back into me. It feels good to be home. Ahh, the comforts of concrete. Concrete and steam vents. Steam vents and metro stations. The greasy smell of Peruvian chicken. Hip-hop. The use of the word hip-hop. Spoken late, late at night. Smoky words from smoky mouths. Beats banged out on trashcans and recycled through blasting stereo speakers. It's fucking cold outside.

The apartment building looks down on me and winks, smiles, stone faced but warm. "Hey, boy. Good to see ya again. It's been a minute." I missed the scattering of lights on your checkerboard face old friend. I missed this place. Missed noise and noise and more noise. Missed stories of Abdi and stories of Ibrahim. Shared stories, shared thoughts, shared past, shared culture. I missed these people. I missed this place.

-b

...

on a side note, if anyone is reading this, check out any of the following bands. They're all from the D.C. area and are all quite lovely.


slumber
rifle recoil
the epochs
the hinges