Sunday, July 18, 2010
A few bucks for a Canal Street special was certainly within my means. I would dutifully deliver the watch when we first set foot in the yard and unloaded our booty for the rest of the family. I never quite understood where he fit into the family hierarchy of cousins and step-siblings and distant aunties or uncles. He was just there, in a scrap-heap hovel of a house in one corner of the yard, eking out a meager existence.
But I don't bring him anything anymore. No Canal Street specials, no cheap I (heart) NY tee-shirts. Nuttin. I can barely stand to look 'pon him. Not since I learned that he was the fiend who lured young Poochie out into the bush, convincing Miss Una he needed Poochie's help to "collect limes." Why would this old goat ask for the help of a slim 12-year-old girl when there were 'nuff strapping teenage bwoys in the yard fi climb tree and ting?
Yeah, we know why. Mi dun wid you.
Posted by VH McKenzie at 5:58 PM