Poor Boy Sandwich a short story by me? what yall think? i

 

I first moved to New York cause of
my best friend Gq and his brother Scotty. I had been born here but was raised
in Miami, Even though all my life I bragged of New York roots to all my
Floridian friends, I was more Miami then flamingos and humidity.  For some strange reason If you were from New
York it gave you a certain cred with other kids. An exotic type, New Yorkers in
Florida always speak of the city as some magical metropolis.  Where everything is better. I was about 20
years old and not up to anything in Florida although I just got my G.E.D from
Miami- Dade community college. When I called in to see if I have passed the
test and the lady on the other end informed me I had passed. I was in
disbelief.  “Come up to NY you ain’t
doing shit in Miami “ Gq would tell me, we would talk daily. He had been in New
York for  six months and it always seemed
like he was busy in the mist of excitement, as I heard the background noise of
the Apple.  I was working at a call
center in Doral making good money saving up to head north. The job was okay
dealing with customer service for some roadside assistance company. The
managers genuinely seemed to like me. In those days my life was so mundane I
would have killed to have sped up the process of my relocating.  All I did was wake up masturbate , roll up a
blunt for the commute to work and take calls from people in distant states who
had a flat tire or broken R.V motor. “ Ten Cuidado en nueba yol mi hijo aya los
tiguries son liones” my grandmother would say. My grandmother was still living
in the past she remembered the city of the late 60’s ,70’s and 80’s, When New
York was  NEW YORK!. Now the city was
gentrified , white people lived in Harlem and Wash Heights. Starbucks was on
125th street, and on every corner you would see NYPD on foot patrol,
Shit you couldn’t even jump a turn style without a cop getting in your ass
about it.  The safest big city in the
world. When I arrived it was nighttime in the middle of December. I had some
experience with the city in past, as kid coming in the summer and just fucking
around but I was still wet behind the ears. Gq agreed to meet me on time
square, I took the A train from JFK to save money. “Yo you like a hick b “ is
how Gq greeted me when I saw him. I was dressed in old navy baggy jeans and a Roca
wear T-shirt with a light black nylon jacket. 
Gq looked like he was out an urban fashion magazine he had on a slim
fitted leather jacket with a nautical stripe t-shirt under. He looked as if
he’s been living in New York all his life. Another Thing about the New York vs.
Florida thing is New Yorkers always talked down about Floridians sense of
style.  Gq was a tall slim good looking
Dominican guy. He had his hair cut real short with a baseball cap to the back. He
embraced me like a brother. “The mamao is finally out the nest”. This was an
on-going joke between him and his brother, whether I had the balls to leave
home or not. “my nigga I was running 
around this city with my cock out when you was still watching power
rangers”  I said to gq, He looked me up
and down as if eyeing a package you weren’t expecting at your door.  I felt strange , not nervous but everything
seemed so dreamlike. My new home was Gq and his brother’s apartment , Way
uptown on 207th street. It was a two bedroom, I was to take the
living room couch. Back home I had my own room the perks of being the only
child. When you leave home you don’t feel any different. To be honest I felt
like I was on a vacation rather than settling into my new abode. When we
arrived Scotty (gq’s older brother) was going downstairs as we climbed the
stairs , He greeted me with a childish smile, The smile was saying now the fun
begins. He grabbed my shoulders and said “Welcome to New York Miami boy”
although I and the brothers went to the same elementary, middle and high school
, They referred  to me as “Miami boy”.  Scotty then went on to imitate me walking
with my luggage through the city streets , distorting his face in an extremely
exaggerated fashion opening his eyes really wide and looking up as if the skyscrapers
were out of this world. The apartment wasn’t any different to most of the
apartment I had visited before. Everything in the apartment felt antique. The entrance
was a long hall way, Similar to my tia mireya on 138th street,
Except her walls were covered top to bottom with photos of every relative that
has ever lived in our family. This place was empty, it did not feel like a home.
The place had a feeling of just moving in or vice versa. The brothers have been
there for 8 months. “Now you got brothers “ Scotty said as he handed me a set
of keys.  Gq was sitting on the couch
already asking me if I had money for weed. “Come on light it “ gq said. An
expression as if asking for an earnest favor  with a car salesman smile on his face.  All my friends have always been “tea-heads” a
beatnik phrase I used to de scribe pot smokers. “Fine I’m down I want to
celebrate anyway” I said . The “Miami boy is en Nueba Yol! “scotty screamed in
his best ultra-Dominican  Balbuena voice.
….

 

In my time in New York I learned
all about “Coppin”. My friends that have had the privilege of living under 103rd
street always spoke of the infamous weed you can get up on Dyckman. “ I always
found it to be just hype. bud was bud , but being the observer I was I had
mastered the art of “Coppin” in uptown Manhattan were most of the pushers were
young Dominicans in foamposite Nikes and bubble coats.  Being new in the neighborhood, I found myself
walking block to block just to be eyed vicariously and sent away empty handed.  If needing to “copp” and you find yourself in
“alto Manhattan” . Just walk on a residential block with exact change. If you’re
not from the neighborhood make sure to look confident. Casual clothing is a no
brainer, Don’t smile , Don’t wave, and Don’t be friendly in any form or
fashion. Your aura should read “ I need weed you got it or not” . If you’re Spanish
greet the drug dealer in an urban ghetto fashion such as “que lo que”  or “dime aver”. Speak those phrases, as if
you’re saying it out of habit , Remember DON’T be friendly. If you’re non Spanish
descent your objective might be more difficult. If white commonly known on
those blocks as “blankito”, Don’t I repeat DON’T ask anyone for “Smoke” ,”pot”,
or whatever you call it back in Iowa. Just casually walk past the groups of
people on stoops, Trust me you would be offered “sour” by the time you reach
207th street.  If you are
black refer to the ghetto Spanish greetings. No one would question the dark
skinned Dominican act, its golden. Once approved by the stoop man , you get to
enter the lobby and meet sales. Have the crispy bill in hand ready to do the
quick hand to hand transaction. Once you’re back in the streets don’t walk ,
STROLL as if a man without care in the world as you head to Inwood park to burn
your money.