the boys on the corner wear their pants pulled low. they do chin-ups on the street signs and sport knit hats or yankee caps, even in the summer, even in the winter. one of them is named gregory, and they are always there, morning and night, to call or whisper things like, "hey, gorgeous. hey there, snow white. girl, you got the most beautiful eyes i ever seen." in the deli's doorstep, they bicker, joke, sweat, whistle, kick cats, snap open bottles of soda pop. they move like the jellyfish swim, growing slack and then clenching and moving nowhere though they always seem to be churning saltwater, churning and drifting. they're electric even in the ocean, sparking and charged on the crammed avenue.
monday, august 1st. 2:37 AM, she wrote from my window:
"One of the corner boys got shot. not 20 mins ago. Driveby. These are dog days, its like theres crazy in the streets. I watched the car drive away and in my madness saviour complex i almost ran down to give them towels before the subletter stopped me. I had this feeling something might happen"
