GUNPLAY XMAS

It wasn't this past xmas. That passed without shots being fired. I was able to deal with Shorty without resorting to pulling the gun. No, this was xmas past. It was the one after I had been arrested on the Palisades. Yummy finally calmed down and life went on through the summer, fall, and then it began to snow. I was working at the bar and did odd job carpentry during the week. I'd just finished writing RELIGIOPATH but was having no luck with publishers. Friendly moved next door to the guitar player and after I'd done a nice slum spruce up for her, she was planning on moving to California with a Brit AND the guitar player. Yummy worked as a high end waitress at various toney restaurants. We were getting along quite well. I had been to court a half dozen times on the pot and LSD charge and still my case wasn't settled. I was getting scared that i would have to do time. My public defender told me "You may have to do time." I told him that wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear from him.
I was an over 40 year old, relatively intelligent, well spoken white man, not easily rattled by the justice system. If I had been a 20 year old black man I'd be writing this from jail. I stood in that Rockland County court room and watched person after person be sentenced to 30 days, 90 days, a year of county time for the most inconsequencial crimes- grafitti, public drunkeness, bad checks. My lawyer was a slovenly, verbose, fat man with a flair for ineptitude. When I called his office, his secretary had a charming way of cussing me out and hanging up. "Fuck you! We have better things to do, Mr. Christmo!" Click. That's a direct quote.The poor are fucked in this system. The poor of color might as well just put on the orange jump suit and start picking up trash.
So it was, in this climate of impending County time hanging over my head I decided to have a xmas party on 7&C. It could be a going away party also, in a worst case senario. I went out to get eggnog as the guests trickled in. On the way back, past the heroin laundromat, a kid riding a little bicycle dropped a bag without realizing it. I looked down. I was an ungodly amount of white powder. I put my foot over it and shouted to the kid on the bike. "YO!" He turned and glared at me. I stood my ground and crooked my finger. His eyes narrowed and I saw him put one hand in his baggy pants. He couldn't have been older than 16. The bike spun and he came at me full speed. The back tire spun out and the front tire almost touched my pant leg. I said nothing. Then I removed my foot from the bag and motioned with my eyes to the ground.
When the kid saw what he had dropped his jaw almost hit the bag. I moved on. He caught up with me as I was putting my key in the front door of my building. "Yo Popi." he said, now all sweet, "You saved my life." I looked at him and smiled. "No problem homes." Then he spun his bike around and was gone. I spiked the eggnog and the party continued. Then at the party's loudest, gunfire broke the festive mood. Everyone went to the windows. A big crowd had gathered on Ave. C.
Bodies were down. I tried to see if i recognised any but it was dark and I couldn't make much out. Within minutes Five-O sirens and lights sped up and down the Ave. Everyone moved away from the windows and the party continued. Then Friendly came in wearing red leather hotpants with a swastika stiched on her crotch, twisted both my nipples and kissed my cheek. Yummy was not pleased. I think I hear sleigh bells. Nevermind, just another ambulance.