Thursday, July 10, 2008


           T-Roy rested his hand under his pillow, thinking of a myriad of things.  The high cost of gas, the father he wished he’d known, the smell of his girl Cheri, the absence of dub reggae in the music scene, the Badlands, the repo man he’d dodged, the increasing number of children he’d spawned across this great country of his, the dwindling bullets in the chamber, the price of milk, the new set of spinning hubcaps, the night wind, the fire in his heart, the novel he planned to write after all of this was over.

       T-Roy’s world was a never-ending push pop.  No wonder he couldn’t sleep.



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