A tale of that FLIX BUS STOP off of 31st Street, in NYC, across from the Madison Square Gardens …
They cast their eyes at me and I winced, as the TUESDAY NIGHT COASTERS zoomed on by. their women-folk in tow, as the “johns” look on, seeking sweaty and degrading liaisons in some grimy alleyway in NYC.
“YOU FROM FRIMPTON?”, screamed Benny. He knows – he can’t really read or write, but he knows.
Benny ruled the streets around 31st Street, he carried a carpenter’s hammer and a roll of quarters. He was the SHOT CALLER on that block, working for the WEST SIDE JOOG-CLAN and running the flesh show near Broadway and Madison Square Gardens. “BIG B” as they called Benny sat large on his Honda scooter and would circle the gawkers and European vacation crowd, murmuring their broken English with strong German accents, being so aloof to the circumstance that is all to real where they are from.
The FLICKER BUS passengers would huddle in the darkness, as the “land crab” scuttles by, looking for some bagel left behind during the morning rush hour slog.
Benny was rounding up the joog-whores and other ne’er-do-wells this night … He had is brigade of boovula dealers, strutting, cussing, too coy or worried to look long.
Benny was a cowboy of sorts, keeping the “flesh moving”, making sure that all the old freaks could take a look and maybe decide based on the window dressing. The women were scared and poor. They wore tight clothes, with tears and visible blood stains on their jeans, near the crotch. Benny had to have a stony heart to do what he did – to be who he was. He had competition. He had enemies.
Benny faced opposition from the STRUG-BOYS of Harlem. They didn’t like how his crew was muscling in on the action and taking their cheddar …
Benny was constantly menaced by the HOOVER-SCOUTS of CROWN HEIGHTS. They carried fully automatic GLOCK-19’s and would spray their lead spew wherever they threw down …
Benny was harried by the BOOMER-RATS of PARK AVENUE – and these old skeez freaks did NOT mess around. One on one they weren’t much, but in groups of 10 or 20 they would surround you and pummel you with their “wisdom and insight” … by the time it was over, you’d pray for death.
Finally, there were ROMEO-DEALERS, spreading meth and X and KROKODIL. They’d sell blues to the street-rats, who after smoking that shit became their willing death zombies.
But Benny was fine, this was his milieu …
Benny was okay …
His ilk were striving in a world of degradation and deformed values, stale bread and moldy t-shirts.
He and his men were ready to go, for whatever, and it’s happening TONIGHT.
Benny’s not leaving.
Are you leaving?
