Noon. September 2, 2007. Washington Heights. Temperature 75. Sun brilliant.
Sky possessing a clarity that poets, dying, wish they had lived to see.
St. Nicholas Avenue awash with life, color, motion, sounds and smells–yet peaceful, harmonious.
Room for everything and everything fits.
Down a block B-REAL peeks at us
Jumps out at us black in white in this full color world
(Bobbie & me, out scouting
carrying ice cube trays, corn, kiwis, a book.)
Half smiling, that maybe once famous B-REAL half smile
The smile that got him laid? Killed? The smile his mother loved? That others envied? “How he smile like that anyway?” Beyond compelling. Demanding! “Get your asses down here! Check out our blog!”
A one lot park, paved for basketball 
A lone teenger (a B-REAL wannabe?) standing in the entrance rolls off to allow us in, never looking our way or otherwise acknowledging our existence.
Leaving us alone with B-REAL
and Rudy (Don’t drink and drive!)
and Ali (Don’t neglect your health!) 
Dazzled by art, saddened by death on this one more perfect day.
Saddened by art, dazzled by death on this same perfect day in Washington Heights.
Welcome! 