“This just utterly sucks Charles.”
They shared a roak of Grenadian Schmiee. We were on the Observation Deck, 86th Floor of the Empire State Building.
“What’s that, man.”
“Listen, our era sucks. What do we have? We don’t have a war. We don’t have industry. Look at this post industrial disaster. If I was you, I’d go back to St. Kitts, go to college and become Prime Minister or something. All we have is Son of Sam, Punk Rock, unemployment, graffiti, drugs, rampant crime… it sounds cool to outsiders, but it sucks to be a New Yorker.”
“You right man. That was a good Spliff of Roak Ganja my friend. I will be go back to St. Kitts and I ain’t neve’, neve’, comin’ back here man. I got a premonition that you need to get out of The City too or you gonna die here man. I seen it in a dream.”
Charles flicked the rrrroach off the building into the stark melange of spotlights and darkness. Buddy could feel the 1,000 foot gap in space.
“I know I have to get out of here. I’m worried. Circumstances are taking control of events. I have this theory that I gleaned from Peters. He believes that once you lose control of little things in your mind, it drifts into everything you do and then like Achebe said: ‘things fall apart'”.