Читать книгу Streets of New York - Mark Anthony - Страница 5

foreword

K’wan

When you see pictures of New York City on television, they make it out to be this big glowing metropolis, with glass towers that stretch to the heavens, and neon streets. But that depends on what angle you’re looking at it from.

The New York City I know is full of run down buildings and niggaz posted on the corners chasing that. Dope fiends, crack heads and niggaz on the road to nowhere bubble through the city like they actually got a clue. The New York I know is 125^th street before the mayor chased the vendors away. High rollers posted up in front of Willie Burgers, showing off the latest whips or trunk jewels, way before snitching became cool. Yeah, I’ve seen those glass towers and neon-lit sidewalks, but I don’t know them. I know the streets of New York.

The New York I know is the one where Pooh was taken in the prime of his life. Where best friends become bitter rivals and Spanish speaking niggaz with heavy artillery wanna pop your fucking head off because you stepped on the wrong niggaz toes. I know the New York where Promise found himself a wanted man and abandoned by his crew because he was just trying to feed his daughter.

This is the New York I know. See it’s cool to fool yourself into thinking that the city of broken dreams is all glitz and glamour… that keeps the tourism market fat. Do you, kid. Snap your pictures and take your kids to the museums. But do yourself a favor and stay the fuck outta the slums. Though you might be ready for the dreams, you sure as hell ain’t ready for the harsh reality. This is New York, where a vacation can become a charge.