My partner fucked up when he killed the store clerk.
It was supposed to be a simple heist: go in, flash the guns, take the money, run like hell.
No dice. Leave it to my dumb ass partner with a GTA fetish to going in the store trying to show out. We went in, flashed the guns, we asked for the money…then my partner shot the clerk in the chest.
Now we’re sitting in a puddle of blood gushing from his leg because I shot him. I lost my cool, what can I say? He stands like a new-born giraffe, and I want to shoot his sorry ass again. He manages to hobble around, collecting the money, and as we’re leaving, shots ring out from behind us. We forgot about someone in the back office. The other clerk wings my right shoulder and I drop my gun. My partner turns around and shoots wildly in the store, hitting nothing.
From behind the counter, I see the shot clerk on his phone, I’m guessing the police are his talk buddies. Finishing that thought, the police show up, 4 deep. Exiting the cars, guns drawn on us and making their way into the store, I know what’s gonna happen, and I’m not going back to prision, no fucking way.
I hug my partner, take his gun, and shoot him in the head. That’s the cue for the law to do their thing by lighting me up with bullets. My smile, my middle finger is my “fuck you” exit to them and this shitty world.
Thoughts for the day
Something’s been on my mind since last night after I left work…
One of the doc’s from the hospital comes up to me and says…
"Hi, how and who are you?
“Howdy. I’m good and I’m Phillip.”
“Good to meet you. Who are you?”
“I’m the Equipment Tech and—”
“No no,” he cuts me off, “who ARE you? And not what people see in you, but yourself. Who are you?”
I couldn’t answer that. For the longest time, I kinda played of what others said about me, trying to be something for everyone.
But he actually stumped me!
So who am I? I have no fuckin’ clue anymore. Sure, folks will say I’m this and that, and that’s fine, but I don’t know ME! I’m the sumbitch who should know who I am, yet I don’t.
If I was to look at my current status, I’m a good father, husband, an okay writer with an overactive imagination who at times can’t sit the fuck still cause I’m running around the house play-acting. I’m an okay cook with a love of sweets. I’m a bully killer. I can’t STAND fuckin’ bullies! Growing up, I was bullied by people and certain family members, so I secretly took boxing lessons from Baby Chavez cause mom’s didn’t want me to learn how to fight, but I have a knack for fighting. Plus watching my mom get her ass kicked over the years by her husband made me explore every martial art there is to protect her and my family. I learned some evil shit, even learned how to kill. Scary part of that is, it came VERY naturally, like my body knew how to do it already. Why didn’t I fight back? I made a promise to someone not to hurt others, and just walked away. I learned the “Art of the Bubble”, that the only time I get violent is if they violate my space or hurt others or my family.
Fam, is there something you’re not telling me??
As I sit here and type this, I realize I’m a work in progress. A spiritual being having a human experience. Father…husband…son…writer…overgrown kid…protector…Lifer (ask my girl Jo Jo what that is). I have this need to give people more than what they deserve, to help them be better folks. That’s Grandma Magana’s handiwork coming out…the one woman who loved us all, yet we ALL took for granted too many times. I’ve also got something mean and nasty boiling below the surface at all times. Just this deep anger that I have no fuckin’ clue where it came from, but I’ve learned to balance it by letting him come out to play during the full moons.
Balance. Maybe that’s what this mixed up life is about. Accepting the good with the bad and keep on keeping on. Find what works for me, fuck what everyone says, and do me.
In the meantime, I’ll go have a Corona. The hell with laundry and working out today.
PS - love you all, go have a beer, and Walk in Beauty.
Biggest joke of all
Black History Month is a joke.
Let me repeat that…
BLACK HISTORY MONTH IS A JOKE!
You can’t teach the entirety of black people in a month. Schools only focus on the “good” black folks, nothing on the so-called “bad” ones; the ones who bucked the system and showed black folks they didn’t have to take shit anymore and to give as good as we got. Can’t do it.
African American? Fuck that. I’m American. Drop the PC bullshit and call me that. Black history IS American history, same as any other race of color.
One of the hardest lessons in life is letting go…
Whether it’s guilt, anger, love, loss or betrayal…
Change is never easy.
We fight to hold on and we fight to let go.