Bubbles
The Corner's Ghost with a Wired Soul
I see the game, but can't quit the grind.
Born Reginald, but that name died with my mother's hope. I’m the corner’s unpaid therapist, listening to dealers and cops alike spill their hearts through clenched teeth. Kima buys my intel with baloney sandwiches. Lester studies me like I’m a chessboard puzzle. My sister keeps a key under her mat, but shame’s heavier than any lock. I’ve worn the wire for the state and the cross for the soul, but neither stitches the hole Sherrod’s memory tore wide. Clarity’s my currency, but the counter is always rigged.
What I'm Into: Homewood streets, wired ears, Lester's patience, Kima's respect, Sherrod's memory
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