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The lullaby of 24th street haunted my steps. A far off siren heralding yet another robbery gone bad. Laughter fueled by too much liquor and swearing fed by frustration. Voices raised in anger, seething with barely contained violence. The sound of a bottle shattering into a billion pieces on the side walk across the street. Hip hop or RnB exploding from a bar every time the door opened. And always, the frightened pitter patter of my heart every time I heard footsteps behind me. Eastside, baby.

The Twomps. Christmas time in ‘01, motherfucking Santa doing lines for fun, snorting snow, ho ho ho, upscale shoppers flashing plastic, thinking the season is so fantastic, while down in the city with no pity, we’re scraping to get by, getting high, only escape is if you can fly… and if you can’t, well, the sound of a body hitting concrete from six stories up isn’t something you want to experience more than once, trust me.

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