Babylon Children

Little Tiny Little kid. His T-shirt was bright red with a blue pill in the middle that had the words "LA LIFE" written inside of it. He was shaved bald, had an ipod in the ears, and reminded me of a bloodsucker. He had a skateboard.

Bland posturing preteens. Get off or get on at Fillmore street, home to about six thousand blacks as recently as the 1960s, now home to less than a thousand. But the neighborhood banners still feature a black jazz musician against a deep blue background. Sophistication.

That kid was seriously half the size of a normal person. He just stood there in the middle of the aisle, barely able to see over his proped skateboard, well groomed and with pinchable cheecks, standing on the verge of getting it on.

He scared me, I guess. Badditude of money as a petulant little white thing. I worry that I was him. Am him. War in Iraq, war in Afghanistan, war on being able to retain my stash. Library is kicking me off now.