I been careless.

White limo, old old old, on the corner of Kenmore and Thorndale, painted in red on the sides and back, "Stop the killing, be kind to each other." I am surrounded by white people who find the "war" between the "Wilson" and "Thorndale" gangs an amusing urban anecdote, a place to claim faux ownership over our neighborhood, joking, "We'll come out on top, of course." We will, because it won't touch us. Oh, you mean the gang you've claimed as yours! The gangs filled with faces of kids you've never met with problems you don't understand.

Well, shit. Whence the moral superiority, T'mo? You been just as careless, stamping across the landscape with feet just as light and unburdened as these false claimants. Been careless with your money, time, dreams, friendships, drinking, smoking, possessions, food, breathing, sleeping, electricity, windows and doors, locks, keys, tobacco, communication, plans, dates, words. Think yourself into a tizzy. Dream of the devil retiring to an old mansion, the pale blue paper house that appears over and over, burning it to a crisp brown and dressing up your friends as ghouls. Think yourself in circles, go ahead. But that's it, no more.