A Random Boyle Heights Morning


My vulgar Jay & Silent Bob ringtone wakes me up early this morning to the sounds of, “fuck, fuck, fuck. Mother fuck, motha fuck…” I grab and reach for my phone blindly as the bandana I wear to sleep blocks 
out not only annoying light, but what seems to be another beautiful day I’m greatful to see again. “Gracias a dios” is the message I wrote to myself, but after a while it began to lose it’s meaning and purpose. 
I rub out the nights sleep from my eyes and like a five year opening presents on Christmas, I check my email to see what the day may bring. Nothing outta the ordinary today. More spam about wearing the right bra size and buying a house.

I read through a few quickies and behind to emerge from my cacoon, for you see I live at my friends house and for the last two years the floor and a sleeping bag have been my bed. Sleeping on the floor is nothing new for me, sometimes it’s the best sleep ever. I jimmy open the bathroom door with my knife because my friends nephews locked it again.

They’re going to be nothing but trouble, but that’s only because the parents don’t know how to raise kids. At 2-3 years old they can’t even speak properly, but that’s if they have the baby bottle out of their mouth long enough to back to their parents or abuelos. But I digress I do the morning thing and I put on the same clothes I was wearing yesterday. With school starting next week, I’m due for a hair cut and the only person I trust with my canas is my friend “Cheech” at Jesse’s Barbershop. I’ve been going to him since before and after I had my long hair, but in my line of work, looking like a decent young man pays off. As I male my way through the historic “Brooklyn Corridor” I grab a copy of the Times from a door step. I’m still wondering if the Times will really go through with cutting out the California section.
I grab some eye candy as I make my way down Chavez and to my dismay, “Cheech” is sick and won’t be in till tomorrow. I thank the barber for the info and I make my way back toward the house.I think of what I need to do for the day and I make a mental list, buy deodorant, drop of $25 for Harleys doggie food, meet V @5 to go to a comic book store and them meet up with C @9 for a poetry reading in Highland Park. By the time I get to Soto & Chavez, the heart of East L.A. I decide to pay my uncles restaurant a visit for some morning chow.”La Chispa de Oro” has been in Boyle Heights for 15 years and they make some of the best food in town. The best way to describe it, it’s like your mom is in the kitchen cooking for you. Nothing fancy, just whole some food. People trip out when I tell them my uncle owns the place, they’ve been coming here since forever.I pop out the times, check my email one more time and grab a cup of joe after I order some chilaquiles with salsa verde. My food is staring to get cold now and my uncle just asked me how come I don’t put down the phone and eat. I’m not on to argue with that. It’s just another random Boyle Heights morning.

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