go, keep, close the windows, wear it, run away from her, carve, live.

breathe, stretch, be yourself.

I was feeling pretty high on myself, because he's this big tatooed Boriqua and I hang out with him for eight hours a day. Words come smoothly for him, his steps are sure, the kind of ease that comes with knowing you are the big man on the block. I jitter around the room, unsure if I've ever done anything right in my life. Should I sweep again.

But after two weeks, I could surely stoop sit in Bushwick and dance with a Nutcracker. I can surely way, "tu sabes" at the end of my sentences. I may be me, but I can be many things.

And as if in cue, he came to work and showed me why I can't ever be him. He'd been at a funeral the night before. A lady with three kids, and breast cancer took her. She was a COP, so there were 75 COPS there. But her brother and partner were "from the hood," so all sorts of neighborhood guys were there. Henry came, and Henry used to be a "big, strong dude, like, beautiful, shiny black, and strong." But he showed up, skinny and ashen, with "like, full-blown AIDS." AIDS has "hit the community hard, will all the dudes who used to shoot up dope."
The funeral was nice, but a lot of the guys didn't want to be inside with the mourners, so they went out on the street to drink and smoke weed. The funeral had attracted "a lot of different dudes, too many motherfuckers," and he could feel that there was a weird vibe. He went home, and got a call that one of his friends was got shot there on the street. "Ignorance, man. I knew somebody would do something. It's stupid shit."

He and I worked together on some trim and molding pieces, and helped some subs pour the shower concrete. But I didn't feel like I could just say "tu sabes" and be a new-recruit Boricua. No, I'm not from Bushwick. I'm from Steamboat.