It was only a few years ago, the black man had a job but now after all this talking he had a cavity, three dollars and undeniably he lived on the streets. He wore sandals on his feet with dirty white socks and a blue shirt the church gave him and the sleeves were a little too short but it was odd, he looked very wise, but very poor. He had heard the shots fired before so the noise was not memorable even though Hillary Clinton was in some hotel down the street, the Trump Plaza even though she tiptoed through the front door.
He had almost nothing except yesterdays paper, a crushed tomato from a local dumpster as he exchanged greetings with other people that lived on the streets of New York City. Under his pants he was wearing his pyjama trousers and he could still feel the welts on his bruised body from the cops taking him for a ride last month.
Many of his street friends had little marketable knowledge they but would always press their hands in his to say good morning or good night as they all marched to the same drummer, poverty, street poverty. There are millions of poor people but street poverty is a lot worse and Hillary Clinton had long ago forgotten life on the streets. Unaware and confused Hillary Clinton, Jeb Bush, Barack Obama, Marco Rubio were confused about poverty and was careless with their solutions. A well-ordered food stamp program just fed the gun and drug runners and was not generosity it was a bribe.
If you looked closely you could see a few of his black friends pressing little wrappers into the hands of white people as they passed by, it was the drugs they sold. It was a robust business in New York City, little wrappers hold the white powder called cocaine. Barack Obama in his cunning youth was a dope head and knows all about chopping up drugs and selling off the stuff not sorted. You don't hear much about Barack Obama's mother dancing nude and singing in front of a camera. Now the Negro was in the Government House and you can tell he gets scared some times and wants to go back to Chicago.
If you sold enough little wrappers of drugs you could buy cigarettes and you could buy some food, precious food. But the streets of New York City, Baltimore, Philadelphia, Chicago, Detroit, Los Angeles, Dallas and other places have changed over the last few years, known as the Obama years or the B-Rock years.
He seen the girl they all called "Lucky" and any man would notice that she was beautiful as her job was to attract the white man customers and their folding money. Lucky would stand on the corner and talk up the white boys and offer them the street fruit of cocaine as their pink flesh wanted to taste her too.
The streets always had that musty damp wet smell even on hot days so having Lucky around attracting the men was always entertaining as this tall significant black woman had that grace about her that made you smile.
She was stylish and unhurried and from shoulders to hips she had beauty and grace and she was his friend as her voice impressed him again by simply saying good morning.
At times she looked modest and he wondered why this woman they called "Lucky" ended up on the streets. She started out as a street hawker selling onions and corn on the cob and some melon's when in season. She would steal them from local stores ten blocks North and then sell them by the roadside, sacking the profits as her great looks put all the other sellers out of business. Lucky had regular customers but she doesn't sell peanuts anymore she helps sell hard drugs, a few pistols and you could always buy one cigarette but no more onions.
They always laughed and judged all the white boys with their wads of cash buying drugs while pursuing their own middle class life. Since B-Rock took the House the demand for cocaine kept moving up, unnoticed by the cops standing across the street.
The morning business boomed and Lucky was busy flirting with the white boys and being very attentive keeping one eye on the boys in blue having their morning coffee.
He walked up to Lucky; "When do we eat?"
"Soon" she replied and gave him that regular customer smile.
With his cavity and three dollars "Okro" looked at "Lucky" and admired her in the morning light as she was dealing with another buyer and another wrapper of white powder.
Okro and Lucky had planned on making some hot soup today and they were looking at the clock and had enough money to buy a chicken and killing it without warning. The Chinese butcher shops had live chickens and ducks so they would get their chicken and with a great deal of pride hide in the park and build a cooking fire.
Her day trading was going well but we all saw the unmarked police car moving quickly eastward in our general direction. They all knew something was up because the atmosphere on the street had changed. You could smell trouble living on the street.
.
It happened so abruptly, the cops scooped up Lucky and Okro and tossed them, tossed them really hard and came down on Lucky with trash talk and brute force.
They pushed Lucky down on her knees, while on the sidewalk, the cops slapped her up side her head and they cuffed Okro as his eyes clearly showed his fear.
It was frantic, it was fear as they pushed Lucky back on her ass and kicked Okro in the face bringing blood and panic to the streets. The cops knew all about violence and Okro could feel the cuts on his face as fear filled him as Lucky was flushed trying to survive her own beating in silence.
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