After All This Time

I left the rotten nest of boca in 1997. I was 17 and my sister Wreni was 9. Now I'm back for the little birdy's 18 birthday. We no longer peep about marshmallows and other fluff. We're on to bigger stones now, digesting real grit in the pits of our bellies. I've waited for these days to fly for so long.

So I'm rolling down Palmetto with La Rocha trying to conjure up some sort of emotion for this place. Nothing comes to mind. I heard Cheap Trick at the dollar store and Modern English during a Ritz cracker commercial (nearly as unfitting as the Explosions in the Sky/Cadillac debacle but good to hear nonetheless). I used my mysterious knack of detecting good books amongst a roomful of rubbish at a thrift store to find:



Some other geniuses made an uncanny decision to start canning the sweet milky nectars of young coconuts. I sorta feel like a sicko whenever i say young coconut juice but i've been bruising these mothers all the same.