Tuesday, December 17, 2002

The Fabulous Mobile Experiment 12.17.02

Crushed to the side of a two-seater Jamaica Bus careening over asphalt bridges and apartment complex-neighborhoods on my way home. It's 5.00 pm and the bus is packed. I have not slept much, my hip hurts, and I am tired of looking at statistical output. The woman next to me has a sizeable bag bouncing off of my knee. Some child is talking incessantly in a language somewhere between human and Teletubby.

And I hear it. The cell phone is equipped to ring in a tune that I would say is Gilligan's Island, but I know what the owner is going after.

The Big Tymers' "Hood Rich." Which sums it up; he begins to talk in top volume about somebody getting "the papers," all while looking up from under his low-slung winter hat at the people staring at him. Ignoring the fact that we don't need to hear someone else's conversation. But when you're hood rich, you don't need courtesy.

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