Standing in line to get our food stamps I think of my love, tiny Asian stripper with two small kids, working it in a KCDC housing project bloated with bloody gangsters, and trying desperately to make it out while killing rats and visiting sewer roaches, wanting that degree, avoid the crackheads, escape.
Cops patrolling the streets stop me every time I enter the edge-wired hood, glaring hate. Nighttime together generates passion-steam but everything else seems cold and surreal. As I wait for the food stamps I flash back to Beverly Hills, Ferraris and an old dead life.
Cops patrolling the streets stop me every time I enter the edge-wired hood, glaring hate. Nighttime together generates passion-steam but everything else seems cold and surreal. As I wait for the food stamps I flash back to Beverly Hills, Ferraris and an old dead life.
