A Matter of Love in da Bronx Read Online Free PDF Page A

because she knew love had nothing to do with the path we're chucked on for these days. You would be a better man if you were born king and needed only love and babies and the worse you could do was a bad cuddle. Sorry! They gave you brambles, and prickers, and thorns to glide by; took all your luck just to get you born and keep you alive so don't be expecting a single damn spitting spark of it to do anything else for you except to hit me up again for another touch. And who are you to come to me? You've had spirochetal shakes, gonorrheal oozing, circumscissile phimosis encompassing more than four-thousand ecstatic co-joined orgasms and you come to me! I'd swap it all, your black skin, too, if you wished, just to have the sensation one time of reciprocal coital conflagration. But there is no negotiation possible because my situation is beyond your comprehension. I know what you'd say to me: --You ain't never had! Never once-t? Shit, Man, you a daed man. The Lord know what he do when he making fucking numba one: You know he kep something better for Hisself so you know whats waiting for you in Paradise!
    And that's why you can ask me for money? What this time? For the doctor to give you a shot for the clap so you can go right back to the very same embrace that passed it on to you because it's so compellingly exquisite? Lincoln Jackson what is that you're talking about? If it's not for that, then it must be to wage a war against the grungy bugs that eat up through your belly button into your stomach where they bite away the lining and spit it out until the foaming rancid acid burns tiny holes in your liver until you get a bottle to your lips. You're too smart a dude to do smack.
    --Need some bug juice, Sam.
    Through what psychic wisdom do you get the knowledge at these very particular times that tell you I can be found alone, defenseless? How do you know Sol is not here? You know you wouldn't dare walk in with him here, and not pick up a tool and start your work. The quota for the day is two sofas, three chairs, four deliveries! Five dollars a chair; ten dollars a sofa. And clean them up good! Not a tack; not a staple; not a bit of anchored string left on. And how Sol did for you because you would get not cent one until the day's work was done. Not even the first time you did a chair, and asked for the finif to trot it home to your young'uns for milk and crackers, he had you pegged right. Not on your life! You run out and booze in down in a bar and your babies vill still go hungry vich is no never mind to me because my business it is not but if you leave here my business is not got done! How many fivers did I give you, Lincoln Jackson, for a job you left half-finished which fell on me to do and for which I was to get paid by the boss but which you collected unbeknownst to me when you caught him alone outside and said it was medicine money and you never returned the favor? My co-conspirator! The boss none the wiser! Aren't we pulling one over on me, Lincoln Jackson.
    --I'll make room for you. A place to work. Lots to do. I can help you make twenty-thirty dollars today, at least, if money's what you need, Lincoln Jackson.
    --Can't do it, Sam. Couldn't find my pecker if I was pissing down my laig. Don't need work. Need to git somethin in me.
    --Food.
    --Bug juice be better. But, ah take anything to keeps me...
    --...gesticulating?
    --You gots it.
    Sam made only the slightest sidewise glance, but Lincoln Jackson caught it. Then, they both took turns glancing at the brown paper bag with the stains advertising its contents. For Sam, any indication that he had a growling hungry stomach was made to be diminished rather than ignored, which, if he were to plumb the cause he would be the first to be shocked to learn he was more starved for a human connection than something a dinner bell could salve. So, he offered it to him, the sandwich, although Sam had a mind to splitting it. The shaking, bony, pink-nailed fingers didn't share that view,