Friday, April 30, 2010

A story told in six sentences

by Joseph Lupoli

It's a train wreck of a city that's still paralyzed and broken; a fact apparent even after twenty-five-years of being away. As I slowly cruise down Broadway, navigating around potholes, some large enough to swallow a lawnmower, my eyes and nose are suddenly assaulted by the trash-laden landscape.

 It is quite evident, in a surreal sort of way, nothing much has changed in my old home town. Filth and decay encompass everything in sight and yellowed newspapers flutter about in winter's wind like giant urban butterflies with bad eyesight, and the town's stagnation is further emphasized by a mile-long twisted row of busted up cars parked every which way except properly. 

It's plain to see that, even now, the local police department is just a call and response team; no time to enforce little lax laws, like littering, loitering, lap-dancing, lurking, or any other inconsequential L.

And as I pass by a large group of empty-eyed thugs leaning against a fence, some sipping 40 ounce bottles of Old English 800, it then occurs to me: I sure as hell didn't begin martial arts study as a little kid because my step parents thought I looked good in a gi.


jkdavies said...

I love "parked every which way but properly"

what are you up to these days? don't see you much over at 6S?

Joseph Lupoli said...

Why, thank you for the comment. Hardly anyone reads my tripe, much less comments on it. As for what I'm up to these days? I'm still searching for the fountain of middle age.


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