Have A Happy Thanksgiving Morris Park ...
... and the surrounding universe. I don't make a big deal out of the holidays anymore, once your parents are gone and you have no family that you'd want to eat with (w/o throwing up on them) what's the point. No Friendsgiving either; friends are the people that want something from you and when you have nothing left to give them, they move on to the next rube. Cynical, perhaps? Brutally truthful, most definitely; I told you, I am painfully honest. If you end up with a couple of friends by life's end, consider yourself lucky; best advice to young people is look out for number one (as selfish as that may sound). I always took care of everyone's children and parents, now not-a-one is around to reciprocate. You live and you learn. When people show you who they really are, believe them.
Once upon a time on Morris Park I'd throw my Great Thanksgiving Day Smoke Out, it was my way of thanking all my Fit to be Tie-Dyed customers. We'd all gather by PS 34 on Victor Street and listen to Alice's Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie,smoking our asses off, hash under glass and all the weed one could possibly consume in the space of an hour (give or take). Sometimes there would be twenty people or more who'd show up. Friends would come and go, knowing it was the one time of the year we'd see each other, many who had moved away and were visiting their parents or grandparents (as well as us regulars). Afterwards, we'd go back to our homes or wherever the turkey was going to be and demolish it, all glassy-eyed and stoned out of our effing minds. They were kinder gentler times on Morris Park, we took them for granted too. What I miss most is waking up to the smell of my mother's cooking. We never do appreciate cooking until you're the one who takes up that yoke. Enough lamenting.
Be happy for what you have when you have it, when it's gone, it's gone forever.
Once upon a time on Morris Park I'd throw my Great Thanksgiving Day Smoke Out, it was my way of thanking all my Fit to be Tie-Dyed customers. We'd all gather by PS 34 on Victor Street and listen to Alice's Restaurant by Arlo Guthrie,smoking our asses off, hash under glass and all the weed one could possibly consume in the space of an hour (give or take). Sometimes there would be twenty people or more who'd show up. Friends would come and go, knowing it was the one time of the year we'd see each other, many who had moved away and were visiting their parents or grandparents (as well as us regulars). Afterwards, we'd go back to our homes or wherever the turkey was going to be and demolish it, all glassy-eyed and stoned out of our effing minds. They were kinder gentler times on Morris Park, we took them for granted too. What I miss most is waking up to the smell of my mother's cooking. We never do appreciate cooking until you're the one who takes up that yoke. Enough lamenting.
Be happy for what you have when you have it, when it's gone, it's gone forever.
