It's raining outside and I'm listening to Charlie Parker. Somethin' about rain and jazz music makes me feel like I'm in a French new wave film, smoking a short cigarette outside a nightclub with Filipe who just got out of prison for smuggling diamonds. Sometimes I seriously wish I could go all out and dress like a character in a Jean Pierre Melville movie, and I swear to god I would if it was even a little bit acceptable. The problem is I would probably get my ass kicked by my own family and friends. I already left the hood to go to the Navy...........I mean, don't get me wrong, salty fleet sailors are some of the hardest knucklehead motherfuckers I've ever met, but if I go back home showin' my friends how to tie a neckerchief, they'd probably take my lunch money. They don't respect that. So I probably shouldn't add any more conflict onto that by goin' to Meadowbrooks projects in a grey inspector gadget raincoat, a brown tweed suit and a fedora. There wouldn't be enough croussants in the world to plug the bulletholes in my chest.