I Miss The Block

Sometimes I really miss the block. Not the idyllic block I grew up on, no--I'm talking about the block where I used to buy weed. It has been many years now and I find myself missing the adrenaline rush, the abandoned car and rotting houses scenery, the pleasant interactions and transactions with my drug-dealing friends.

I miss D-Bone, P, T, Tee and Lil' P. I miss Little T and Little C, D and Bubba.

Most of all I miss Terry, the original "T", who first went by the street name of Shady. I remember when he threw bullets out my window as I drove him around the block. He said he "just shot somebody." I remember when he asked me if I wanted to hang out sometime, if I could "take him to some parties and introduce him to a few ladies." I said sure, why not. Then he called me five minutes later. I turned off my phone, thinking it best we probably didn't hang out together. Ours was more of a professional friendship, a bond with lines that just couldn't be crossed. At least to me.

One day Terry vanished from the block. I didn't see him for more than a year. Then one day he returned, smiling and jovial as ever. He'd been in prison for whatever reason and now he was back, right back in the game and ready. Nothing would keep this dude down. He hugged me through my open window as I sat there, happy to see me again, and then he hooked me up with his trademark overflowing twenty bags, three for $20, and I was off, back to my safe, cracker-ass world just seven minutes away.

Yeah, I had it timed to just around seven minutes, taking into account the 80 mph-plus it would require me to travel down the freeway to get there within seven minutes. Then I moved out of my parents house and moved into an apartment only three minutes from the block.

But by then Terry was gone. I hope he's doing all right. He was a nice guy.

I used to have a lot of crazy dreams about the block. Here's one dated 9/15/02, transcribed from my journal of dreams:

I'm inside a house on the block, sitting on a long couch in a living room with a few dealers, we're all playing XBox. Suddenly there's a huge bang on the front door. The house is getting raided. The door flies open, cops run in, chaos ensues, we all run in different directions. Somehow I make it outside and keep running for a bit down the block. Then I stop--where am I going to run to? I don't even have a car. I'm not even wearing a shirt. I look down at my feet--no shoes.

I sort of miss having dreams like these.