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just funk…not love-funk

January 30, 2008

Had got to wondering about NuNu’s scrapyard and if Pops had done anything with it or even had it still. Went on into the Frontroom and there he was, one burnin between his fingers while he held the papers and one still burnin in the ashtray on the side table. Somebody lives in a place for a good while and it becomes who they are and their odor and mood gets into the carpets and furniture. There’s no getting it out even after they die sometimes. Throw out the dead ones’ goods, pull up the rugs, paint the joint, that does it sometimes. Pops’ place was no different. The funk slapped you in the mug upon entering wherever he was. The Frontroom was that place right now, it was like a thorny caress. Real familiar and welcoming, but repulsive too in a way. Like I’ve gone into some people’s places and the stank just don’t sit good in the nostrils cuz they are not of my blood….then it’s just funk…not love-funk. ” Whats up with NuNus yard Pops ? ”   “Still got it….you wanna go down?” ” You wanna?”  “No, fuck no. They been tryin to get it from me but I ain’t interested to sell yet.”  “Yeah, I’d like to do down.”  Pops finally pulled down the paper and shot me a look. It was one of Pops’ ‘I ain’t askin’ but I’m askin’  looks.  So I answered him.  ” If I’m goin away, I want to have some stuff fresh in my mind, like waterin a plant half-dead, right?”  ” A boxin’ poet I got now?”  He smiles at his own joke and says “Yeah I know what you’re getting at. Heating up the memories like toppin off a cup o coffee.  ‘Member how to go?”  ” Yeah yeah” I sez.  He sez “Take the new River exit off the Skyway and you can’t miss it between the bridges cuz they flattened everything else. You’ll see.” He raises back up the paper after stubbin’ out the butt. “Keys to the Crown Vic are on the visor.” 

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