Gang-boys
A tree marked with a giant 7 and a giant 0 The 70’s came through here. A stop sign tagged with T-Flats no longer stops traffic but serves to warn you intruder that you’re entering Tortilla Flat territory. Better yield. I lived in the middle of gangs sandwiched between deadly loyalties to the red, blue, the brown. My childhood riddled with gang-boys who think, believe they are men but each one really a man-child. Sagging pants weighed down by the gats they tote. Glock, revolver in one pocket bandana representing in the other. Sporting perfectly pressed blinding bright white t’s cut-off dark work pants with creases cutting the air, hair shiny, sleek classic like the filero, thick white sport socks pulled knee-high and dark knit gloves in the summer! I knew some of them talked and laughed with them I wasn’t allowed to befriend them not allowed to cross their path to nowhere good. Willie, aka Will or Big Slim with his pet iguana and his magne