Originally published online in Sula Collective Issue 13, October 2016


Eeem the white people in Harlem have pitbulls: the hood will always be the hood. Several hours later I’m zooted. Nutter’s in town & we eat Mexican food w his pops & get terrible service. I drink two Lagunitas IPAs & am tipsy af. Smoke a spliff w Nutter overlooking Morningside Park. We speak enthusiastically; I’m piped up. The night is super mild & shit as we walk w the joint. I’m high af & keep repeating myself. ‘This some fire,’ Nutter is surprised & says California weed is always sorta diesely in other cities. We’re gonna do a Grime podcast. The D train takes forever, but I notice the steel bolts in the stairs have a face like they can’t share a secret they know because their mouths don’t exist. I swipe a cork board from a church’s curb. I need that shit for notes & shit. Four blue pins one white one red one yellow pin already in it. Mmmmbet. Train’s fast tonight; I listen to Neffy Got Wings. The veins in my feet criss-cross chaotically across themselves like spaghetti over my foot bones. They tint regions of my foot green & it looks populated i.e. full of forest animals & lush vegetation.