Changes in My 'Hood

There's a very long traffic light on the cross street next to my house. Sometimes I head one street over to a street that has a stop sign if I am in a hurry.

The street has been closed for a couple of months, though. The other day, I noticed it was no longer blocked off. So I decided to use it.

And I saw something peculiar: the street had been paved with bricks.

I was fascinated. I decided to open up the car door and take a closer look.

I thought, "Oh my. We are about to be gentrified. The white folks are moving in. Bout to force the black folks out."

Some of the older black folks can't stand that. My father's family neighborhood is WOW. Brand new houses, white folks all over the place. All kinds of shops and eateries less than a mile from their house. (They gave me the side-eye when I talked about it and said they should go on "down there" and look around.)  I am glad they haven't lost their house in all the fray.

I'm not sure if there is about to be a big gentrification in the case of my neighborhood. There are white folks on my street, but the majority are up around the zoo area about a mile away. I live more on the hood edge of all of that.

But there is a very fancy park at the other end of the street. I have written about it. It even has the fancy water spouts.

All this in the hood.

Oh, and it's on the coming Beltline. That's some big circular green walkway that circles the city and connects various neighborhoods. I don't quite understand it fully. I just know it's coming our way.

Here's a picture of the end of the street where it meets the main road out of the neighborhood.

So I looked it up. From what I understand, these are bricks with 4 feet of tightly packed gravel underneath. So when it rains, the water does not flow to the edge of the street, but it filters through the bricks and downward to... somewhere.

I didn't quite understand the article. Construction science is not my thing.

But it looks like they will be paving my whole neighborhood as a solution to the massive flooding problems we have when it rains hard. I don't know if they will be paving my street, but the street next to mine has been marked up with white chalk. I think they are about to pave it.

That is interesting. It looks nice, but I am wondering how well it will hold up when stacked on top of gravel.

Brick roads will raise property values. I was underwater a couple of years ago, but I seem to have a fair amount of equity right now. *raised eyebrow*

This still seems like a big urban gentrification thing, though.

Hmm...

Seen at the Market, Part I

I live in the 'hood.

 I rarely go to the Wal-mart in the hood. Every since I saw that the prices were a tad bit higher, I thought I'd just go out in suburbia. But I decided to go to the Wal-mart in my hood. There are now three within 10 minutes driving distance. Oh Joy!!!

But I saw this at the Black People's Wal-mart: Blackberry Ginger Ale.

Who's had that? Is it any good? I would like to try a can of it, but not a whole 2 liter bottle. I'm sure it is dirt cheap, just like the rest of the sodas. I left it alone since I'm not a big soda drinker.

I went to our local foods distribution warehouse. It's in the hood, so it's bootleg to death. (There's no door. You have to go in through the dock through long heavy plastic strips.  And the cashiers are behind inch thick bullet proof glass).

Cheap stuff. Feels a bit fenced, though. Not a good look if the place gets raided. But I took my sister there. She is a diva, but she seemed to enjoy herself. (I thought we were in there a bit too long for my own liking).

Anyway, I saw this:

I was completely throwed off by seeing a gallon of "red color".  Then I realized it was a gallon of red food coloring.

A whole gallon of red food coloring! Who in the world would need that?

How many red velvet cakes can a person make with a gallon of red color?

I guess it upsets me because I hate all things with the "red velvet" tagline. I've also worked around some food color chemists from time to time. And of course, after conversing with them over the years, I wondered which red it was. (Some are illegal in the USA).

My favorite author Tayari Jones bakes red velvet cakes, so I asked her about it. She said that she uses 2 ounces of red food color for baking. So since there are 128 ounces in a gallon, then she could make 64 3-layer red velvet cakes.

Ha! That's your math lesson for today.

I'm not sure if I want a WHOLE gallon of red color in my house. What on earth happens if you spill it. The mess it'll make!

Oh my!

Adventures at the White People's Kroger, Part I

You all know how much I LOVE the White People's Kroger.

It's the Kroger they build in the regentrified hood, when all the White People move back intown. And it's better than the regular Kroger, you see. It has to look like the Kroger on the North side of town.

It even has it's own wine steward! *ladylee raises an eyebrow*

(But they play a lot of Jodeci and Luther Vandross. I have not heard not one Britney Spears or Barry Manilow song. *crickets* I haven't quite figured that one out yet).

My Pharmacy is located there. They get a kick out of me.

"I don't want all my meds today. Gimme $20 worth!"
Pharm Tech looks at me all crazy.
"I gots the money, man! I just don't wanna pay $70 bucks. That's like paying a bill or something. Gimme $20 dollars worth!"

LOL

And I like to wander around, peruse the interesting new things there. They are constantly changing. Gotta keep the intown white folks content you see.

So imagine my surprise when I saw the chitterlings there.

On sale for $7.99.

I learned that white folks eat chittlins when I was attending grad school. My friend says his family batters and fries them in hot grease. Hmmm... Never had them like that before!

But I am tripping on the price. Last time I even perused the chitterling section, they were $4.99 a pound. What's up with the price hike?

Anyway, Chele? Ginae? Lisa B.?

One of ya'll older chickens who know how to properly clean chittlins!?

Stop by the White People's Krogers and pick up a couple of red buckets and come on by the house and sit them over in my laundry sink to thaw! And don't get the container with the spilled blood on it. NASTY. Get INTACT buckets please. INTACT and clean. Please. Much Obliged.

You won't be using my kitchen sink. Ya'll not cleaning chittlins where I wash dishes. Laundry sink is just fine. Milk and Cookies, my brother, used it once to hold his shark.

I reckon it will work just fine for chittlin' cleaning. Ya'll work that out!

Only 5 days 'til Christmas! Better get on it!

But that's not the strangest thing I saw at the White people's Kroger...

Stay tuned for Part II.

REPOST: The Mayor of My 'Hood, SNAKE

Someone asked me about one of my neighborhood locals, Snake, the other day. He's okay. I see him ever so often, patrolling the neighborhood. Here's an old blog post about his, uh, duties in the hood.

And I learned much about character, respect, and integrity, and community assistance that day..

Enjoy. And learn(?)

(Dedicated to that Botanical Chick Carleen, who seems to like the hardcore posts, lol)

From what I hear, every 'hood supposedly has a Mayor, i.e., one who knows all of the neighborhood gossip, illegal activity, etc.

The Mayor of my 'Hood is a crackhead known as SNAKE...

Snake is the Ultimate Hustler. He is quite industrious, he is! The owner of a vacant rundown house down the street from me, next door to my friend and coworker The Infamous Hen-Dog's crib, left the water service on (how stupid!). So Snake, being the crafty hustler that he is, has been operating a rather lucrative full service car wash corporation from that house for several months.

He even gets locked up periodically for operating a business without a license... So you know he is doing good.

I remember the day that I first saw Snake operate in his full capacity as the Mayor of my hood.

It was a bright and sunny day, and I was sitting on the rock retainer wall in front of Hen-Dog's house with our neighbor Kim, going over some details in my manuscript, when a skanky looking prostitute name Clara walked down the cross street next to my street. She had, um, a few choice words for Snake...

"Snake, you "mother*****", I don't appreciate you brangin' no johns over to my man's house."

Snake, who was washing a car at the time, looked her way.

"Clara, don't act like you ain't no hoe! I was just trying to make sure you got some business. I was trying to help you out, with your stupid ass."

Snake was loud, but calm... They fussed a little more. Snake went back to concentrating on the cars he was washing, and talking to a customer sitting in one of the many chairs that were in the driveway of the vacant house. Kim and I went back to reviewing a chapter of my manuscript.

"Snake, you a no good disrespectful mother******," the highly perturbed trick yelled. "Don't you EVER disrespect me and my man like that, you hear me mother******??!! You ain't right.You ain't no damn good! "

Snake threw down the waterhose and stomped down the street towards the pissed off prostitute. It kind of reminded me of that scene in the very beginning of Menace II Society, where Larenz Tate's character Mad Dog threw down his change and shot the Asian store owners...

I have to admit that I was quite terrified, because it looked as if a serious ass-whooping was about to take place. I know one thing... I heard some highly creative cuss words that day that I'd never heard before. Apparently my neighbor Kim was use to such behavior, because she sat there next to me and continued sipping beer from a wine glass, as was her usual habit.

Poor Clara retreated, needless to say... I have never seen anyone get embarassed and cussed out like that! After such a harsh tongue lashing, she scurried her behind right on up the street.

Snake turned to me, grabbed my hand in a hearty handshake, and said,

"Welcome to the Hood!"

Snake then apologized for his bad behavior, but Clara was insulting his character and integrity.

"LadyLee, I'm sorry, but that bitch had the nerve to insult my character and integrity, and I can't have that. She know she a hoe, and I was trying to bring her a customer. She know she need the money. Damn, I try so hard to assist the people of this neighborhood..."

Hmm... Character and Integrity... Assisting the people of the neighborhood.

*Crickets*

I got a hard and complicated lecture on character and integrity that day, and I get the same lecture every week... I just stood there like a deer in the headlights, and listen to him drop such complicated knowledge.

I'm not sure if I will EVER understand the intricate and complicated details of hood politics...

But Mayor Snake does an excellent job of keeping my car washed and my leaves raked...

For a small fee of course...

Then he disappears down the street to get a good hit, I suppose...

All I gotta say is... SNAKE is one heck of a Mayor!

Yes Indeed!

Gettin' POSTAL and SCANDALOUS on Ya!!!

(Note:Click here for introductory post: "Gettin' POSTAL on Ya!!")

I must say that everytime I step into the Crown Road Post Office, I get all nostalgic...

I think about how life was some 19 years ago when I worked there. I met a lot of interesting people there.

And I did a lot of interesting things...

The year? 1988.

I was 18 years old, and it was the summer before my junior year in college. (I started college when I was 16). During the spring quarter, my chemistry lab partner brought me an application for a temporary position at the post office. She worked there during the summers, and thought I would like it. I usually worked temp jobs during the summers, so I applied for a night time position. I didn't want a daytime position because I wasn't getting along with my mother, and I was gonna do everything to get out of the house so I wouldn't be there with her. My rationale: Work at night and sleep all day. Ma works during the day, so I would have the house to myself.

My sister Kentucky was seven years old. My brother Milk and Cookies was only ten months old. I remember that he hadn't even started walking yet. I drove an old 1978 creme Thunderbird. I loved that car!

I was CONSTANTLY listening to J.J. Fad's new cassette tape (you know the one: SUPERSONIC!!!).

I was with my first real boyfriend, "Eli". Damn, I was in love with that boy. Goodness.

LIFE. WAS. GOOD.

Really good. And a bit scandalous at that!!

Rich, rich, RICH. I was making $5.50/hour as a college casual employee (6 month work detail for college students) at the Post office. My shift was from 7:00 p.m. to 2:30 a.m. I was only supposed to keep this job for the summer (3 months), but I continued it when I started my junior year of college. I would go home after work, and wake up at 6:30 a.m., so that I could make it to my 8:00 a.m. class. (If I tried to do that at my age now, I would be looking crazy). Sometimes I worked overtime. A LOT of overtime: 5-6 days a week, 9 hours a day, upwards to 50 hours . At times, I received a $500.00 check every two weeks. Yes, I was RICH!! LOL!

(I would be living under a bridge if I made that much right now!)

LadyLee gets scandalous. I had a boyfriend that had his own apartment. That meant hours and hours of... never mind. Anyway, I didn't work overtime all the time. And there were even times when my hours were cut.

Now, on the nights that I didn't have to work? Let's just say I walked up out of the house like I had to work, with my badge on, and my lunch.

"You have a safe time at work, Lee," Ma would yell.
"Alright, bye!" I'd yell in return.

I even got bold with it sometimes:

"Ma, I, uh, might be working overtime tonight. So I may not see you, since you leave for work at 6:30."

(Remember... I get off between 2:30 a.m. and 4:30 a.m.) I would go straight to his house if I didn't have my 8 am class, LOL! )

"Well, I will see you tomorrow night."
"BYE!" I'd yell, right before slamming the front door.

*Lee kicking HARD fist pump and jumping in the T-bird and heading to her man's house.*

I was so scandalous. And she never caught on. (At least she never let on that she caught on.)

LadyLee gets REALLY scandalous. Now, like I said, I had a boyfriend at the time. Eli had been my boyfriend for a good year and a half by the time I started working at the post office. But, um, I started liking someone who worked my shift, another college student who attended some HBCU out in Texas. He did the college casual program every summer, and worked out on the post office loading docks. He was tall, Hershey bar dark (I like chocolatety men), and thick (I don't like skinny men). He did bulk mail pickups from my section every hour. He was nice, real polite, etc. I told someone that I thought he was fine. Somehow he got wind of that.

Now, I got in trouble with another chick there because she liked him. She caught wind of me liking him. (I didn't exactly like him. I thought he was cute. You see how stuff gets all changed around?) Well, she stopped speaking to me. Gave me all these dirty looks, and I'd heard that she wanted to fight me. I thought that was crazy. Like I said, I thought the guy was fine.

I had a man already, and was happy with him. What did I care?

Well, you know stuff didn't go down like that, right?

That's right ya'll. The Oldgirl started cheating. Me and this guy started hanging out. After a few dates, I started getting a few ideas.

We spent the night at a hotel somewhere out in Clayton county. I liked that hotel. I snuck off up in there a few times with my boyfriend before he got his own place.

Interesting.

I'm going to say this as nice as possible:

This guy, as wonderful as he was, did not satisfy the Oldgirl. Now take that, and run with it however you please. Whatever you are thinking right about now is probably the truth.

Anyway, I lost complete interest in him. What was worse was that he became more interested in me. I mean, the boy was giddy as hell. He would always want to sneak a kiss when he came to my mail cubicle, and I would appease him. Whatever.

I began dodging him like the plague. He soon caught on that I was not interested. We never talked about it or anything, but I just remember the last day I saw him. He caught me off guard while I was getting in my thunderbird.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye, LadyLee."
"Uh yeah. Hope you do well in school. This is your last year, right?"
He nodded.
"That's good."
We stood there looking at each other. It was 2:30 in the morning, and I wanted to leave because I was trying to get to my man's place.
"Lee, can I at least get a hug?"
Oh brother.

I hugged him, and dipped. I still remember him standing in the parking lot, watching me drive away.

I wonder how he's doing now, all these years later? Like I said, he was really nice. He just wasn't keeping it real in the bedroom. That was a very bad pet peeve of mine. Enough for me to lose your number.

I have a few other funny memories, but I won't detail them. (Ya'll know how long-winded I can be!) Those are the ones I reminisce about the most.

Humph. Thank goodness I bring a book with me when I stand in those long lines.

Don't want to stand there reminiscing too much!! LOL!!!

Gettin' POSTAL on Ya!!!

Last night, I had to go to one of the three 24-hour post offices in the city of Atlanta. There are two on the Northside, and one on the Southside.

Translation: the one on the Southside is in the 'hood.

The post office is located in Hapeville on Crown Road. Anybody from the ATL knows where the place is located. It is near the airport, just off I-75.

Well, I needed to go there to mail a book and some CDs (that I have been holding on to at least a month; sorry LadyBug Mocha!) to one of my bloggin' sistas. Like I said, I've been holding on to the package, only because I HATE going to that Crown Road post office.

The lines are usually long as hell. It's like being in the grocery store or super Wal-Mart in the middle of a Saturday around the first of the month. Everybody and there Mama is up in that place. The parking lot is usually backed up and crowded, like we trying to get up in a damn club or something. So, I procrastinate hard when I need to go. I have patience isshas, and I can't stand standing in line for long periods of time. I usually ebb my annoyance by bringing along a good book to read. This usually works out well... That 20 minutes of standing in line goes by fast enough.

Well last night, the post office was apparently short on staff. There seem to be only 2 employees, and there were about thirty to forty people in line. The line stretched out of the area back past the doors, almost to the post office box area. I've seen it that bad before, but there are usually at least 5 employees manning the counters. I was happy that I brought a book along. I would have immediately turned around and left if I hadn't.

There is a side desk, where a postal employee usually sells stamps and boxes and post office memorabilia, etc... Apparently, this employee, a black woman who looked to be in her early 50's, had gone on break. She came back to the counter and then started going through the line, talking to people and culling out the people that she could service. I had a large package that I needed to mail priority, so she said she could help me. I happen to be standing next to her desk, so I was the first in her line. I was happy about that. It meant that I could mail my package and get the heck on.

Anyway, someone in the long post office line apparently misunderstood something, and went to the front of the long line that contained 30-40 people. She stepped out of line and jumped in front of someone else. I don't know what went down that far up ahead in the line, but apparently she was told that she couldn't jump the line. The lady that was helping me couldn't help this particular chick because she was mailing something express, and that could only be done at the front counter.

(I know it is hard to understand, but stick with me here. I am going somewhere with this.)

So, the chick had to go to the back of the line. And the chick is HIGHLY pissed about it.

And she starts going off. She starts snapping HARD on the post office employee who's helping me.

*LadyLee standing at the counter glancing over shoulder wondering if the chick is gonna pull out a shank. LadyLee wondering silently to herself if she was going to have to elbow the pissed off chick in her grill.*

Now the postal employee who was helping me was very professional about the situation. She apologized to the woman, even though it wasn't her fault that the chick misunderstood something.

Yes, she sounded professional, but her tone... I don't know, sounded more to me like...

"Broad, if you keep talking, I will beat the brakes off of you!!!!"

She was professional but she sounded like gettin' postal was nothin' but a thang. We were in a freakin' post office. And I was hoping that the weapons wouldn't be pulled out.

Let's just say, the chick was getting louder and louder, and the postal employee was sounding to me like she could let her salt-and-pepper hair down, take her earrings off and scrap and scratch if need be.

The postal employee smiled at me and asked if I needed anything else. I needed some stamps. The mad chick is still behind me snapping HARD.

"I need 10 stamps," I said quickly.

"Any particular type?"

"African-American stamps," I mumbled.

"Is Ella Fitzgerald alright?" she asked as she pointed to the stamps.

I am looking at her like she is crazy. I wanted to yell, "Do you realize that this chick is about to tare up this place any second now?"

"Yes ma'am, that's fine."

I paid for my package and my stamps, and I DIPPED. The arguing escalated as I was leaving.

Hope they worked that ish out. I didn't stick around to find out. I jumped in my Zoom-zoom and peeled out of there.

Anyway, the Crown Road post office location always causes me to wax nostalgic.

Why?

Because I worked there back in 1988, when I was 18 years old. (19 years ago! It doesn't feel that long. My, how time flies!) .

I thought I would share with you some of my nostalgic memories... Let's just say the Oldgirl was a bit scandalous and dramatic back in dem days...

OH MY!!

LOL!!


To be continued...

The Scoop from the Stoop..

As you know, there is always something interesting going on in my hood.... and the mayor of my hood Snake is always ready to be photographed, for a small fee, of course... LOL!

So one bright sunny Saturday evening this summer, I decided that I was going to jump in my car and go to the gas station. I wanted to gas up my car and put a little air in my tires so that I could go to the early Church service the next day. If there is one thing I just can't stand, it is gassing up in the morning when I'm trying to get somewhere.

So I get in my Zoom-Zoom and head down the street towards Hen-Dog's and Tiny's house. I notice them sitting out on "the stoop", just chilling. Tiny's Mustang doors are open wide, radio blasting music. I slowed down and spoke to them.

"What the heck are ya'll doing?"

They both looked at me. Hen-Dog shrugged. "Just chillin', listening to some music. Where you going?"

"I'm going to get some gas and put some air in my tire."

"Alright, later."

I let up my window and kept it moving.

I came back some 15 minutes later and they were still sitting out there on "the stoop"... just chilling.

"Ya'll still out here?"

"Yeah! Still chillin'." Tiny yelled.

I frowned. It was getting dark outside. They really needed to move closer to the house.

I drove on up to my house, some 4 houses up from Hen's house.

Now, "the stoop" is the rock retainer wall in front of Hen-Dog's house It is the area in front of the black iron fence in front of his house. It is a good spot for viewing all the illegal activity that occurs on the cross street next to our street, without getting involved. Let's just say, if we have to break out running, we can. If someone starts shooting or fighting, we are far enough away from the corner to get the hell on into Hen's house if need be.

My first experience of seeing some craziness jump off while sitting on the stoop was when Snake cussed out an unruly prostitute for questioning his integrity. I hadn't even moved over there then. I just happen to be an Hen-Dog's house.

But this day, I was bored as all get out. Around 9:00 pm that night, I looked out my window and saw Tiny and Hen-Dog down the street, sitting in the same spot...

Just chillin...

Like I said, I was bored, so I grabbed a quart of bottled water and walked down the street and hung out on the stoop with them.

All I know, the corner was a bit hot that day. There was MUCH activity going on that night....

...MUCH.

First of all, several prostitutes live in the blue house on the corner. They all seem to have moved in last spring or something. And, as you can imagine, there is a good amount of traffic around their place.

Why, LadyTee and I were standing outside my house one day and heard one of the prostitutes yelling

"P**** for sale, P**** for sale... "

*crickets*

*LadyLee and LadyTee standing in the middle of the street, slack jawed and speechless, not believing we'd heard such a proclamation*

That woman was just a yelling, all out in broad daylight, like it was no big deal.

Goodness.

Well, that night, while hanging out with Hen and Tiny, I saw a lot. The drug dealers were running up and down the street, holding up their oversized pants, trying not to trip up over their t-shirts, retrieving goods from the dope house, which happened to be two house up from my own house...


No one paid us any attention though. We were sitting there, on the stoop, BLASTING Nancy Sinatra's "These boots were made for Walking" and "Bang, Bang" along with other bizarre music.

Negroes playing that type of music in the hood from a hot sound system must be a bit, I don't know...

Touched... Special...

Especially when Hen and Tiny were jumping around during the playing of "Nancy Sinatra's "Bang, Bang" yelling "Man, that song right there is HARD. That song is HARD!!!"

Yeah, just looking at us, you would thingk we were a bit off. Best to be left alone.

Most notably, one of the prostitutes that stayed in the blue house on the corner was putting in quite a bit of work. She would stand on her front porch with a hand on her hip, smoking a cigarette, waiting on customers. A car would pull up, she'd jump in the car and they would drive off.

She'd return approximately 10 minutes later.

Well you know me... I was FULL of questions.

"Man, what is she doing in 10 minutes time?" I asked, after seeing her exit the fourth car.

"She is doing something oral." [Note: Not exactly what was said... I'm just trying to keep it clean, ya'll.]

I winced, took a long drink of my water.

"Man, how much money ya'll think she makes for 10 minutes? She gots to be making a good 100 dollars each time. She gotta be."

Both Hen and Tiny looked at me like I was crazy.

"Naw LadyLee, they make 5 to 10 dollars."

*Crickets*

*LadyLee looking at them both with a raised eyebrow, wondering how the heck THEY know the oral prices*

"Man, you GOTS to be joking! Stop playing!"

Hen shook his head. "Lee, do you realize that these are Zone three hos? Ain't nobody comimg down to Zone three to pay 100 bucks for a hooker."

"Shoot man, I gots to be making a good 100 bucks a pop each time. You realize how many men she have to do to make 100 dollars? Ain't no way, man. Ain't no way."

"Girl, they trying to make enough money for that next hit of crack, and that's it," Tiny yelled.

"Still, that's some craziness."

But is it?

I must confess that whenever I see a prostitute, I always think back to a sermon I heard some 6 years ago at the church I attended when living in New Orleans. And it wasn't one of those sermons putting down prostitution...

It was a sermon about judging people.

My pastor at the time said something to the effect of, "You know, it's pretty jacked up for you to turn your nose up and criticize a prostitute. You don't know the backstory that led her to that point in her life. You really don't know."

Now, I thought he had a point. Because, really, you don't know. I can't imagine someone, as a young girl, having the goal of someday being a prostitute.

But he went on to say something else. "And a lot of you ladies have had a man leave a little cash on the nightstand after he spent the night. Yeah, that is a bit similar to prostitution. You didn't think of it that way. You just needed some money to feed your kids, right?"

I remember the whole congregation being quiet that day. No jumping, no shouting...

No Hallelujahs.

Just quiet...

It made me think back to when I was in grad school, and I had a boyfriend who came in late from the club and decided he wanted to, um, bother me for a little loving. I told him that he'd been at the club, and I wanted to get paid just like them stripper broads get paid. I mean, I was the one screwing him. They were just dancing. If he wanted to do it, then he was going have to pay me.

"You serious, Lee?"

"Hell yeah!"

He looked at me like I was crazy. "How much?"

"20 dollars."

"Are you serious?"

"Hell yeah!" I yelled, getting all hype. I was wide awake, then. I was broke and I needed the cash. I wasn't getting my monthly stipend for another week.

He nervously pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, folded it, and gave it to me.

Let's just say the Oldgirl put in work that night. A LOT of work.

I woke up the next morning, all excited to see the 20 dollar bill on the nightstand. I believe that was a Sunday morning. That money was very precious to me, and I made it last the whole week, using it for gas for my car, for bus tokens, for food.

I stretched that 20 bucks.

Meanwhile, my boyfriend was nervous all week.

"Lee, I cannot believe you got all giddy over 20 dollars."

"I needed it. And if you wanted to get it that night, you were gonna have to hand over the cash."

He was quiet around me for awhile after that.

I think about that everytime I see a prostitute these days, but I've never told anyone.

Especially after that sermon. My pastor went on to say "Did you ever think about the woman's backstory, how she got into being a prostitute?"

I never had...

Was it from a decision she made? Kind of like the one I made that day back when I needed a little money to make it to the next stipend check?

Hmmm....

I realize that it ain't all that great to judge folks. I mean, we don't know the backstory, the hardship... especially if it is a stranger. We all got family members who got over into triflement and what not.

And I am a firm believer that, some years ago, two or three bad decisions could have us all in a bad spot, doing some things that we would never dream of doing.

I didn't tell Hen and Tiny that I was thinking all this when we were watching the prostitutes work the corner. They would have laughed, and I would have laughed right along with them. Because people who know the person I have grown to be today wouldn't believe such a story...

But 'tis true.

So, I don't judge the chick standing on the corner doing her thang. I'm not sure what happen to get her there. In our hood, it is safe to assume a drug habit of some sort...

But we all know that assumption is the lowest form of human thought.

So as I sat there on the stoop that day, listening to crazy music, sipping my bottle water, singing with my friends...

Watching the prostitute wait patiently for the next customer, the ember of her cigarette glowing brightly, and her flicking spent ashes into the bush next to her door...

I realized...

I can't judge you, lady... I can only wonder at what point in your life did you jump that hurdle in your mind that made you decide that that lifestyle was the only way to go...

And I'm a bit more careful to judge myself, earnestly trying to make sure I don't jump those same hurdles in my mind.

Humph...

Just a thought...