Bushwick Tales (1)

i wake up at 5.30am, from a drunk, hispanic laughter in front of my window, a cool breeze flows through my open window, on the doorstep of my house, two men in black baseball hats, three-quarter length cargo jeans, bid farewell to a friend on his way to prison today, the conversation is occasionally interrupted by repeated phone calls, where are you man? or the blase answer, in a light accent, changing to spanish at times, they're not saying much, mostly how loco and cool it is, cracking jokes about court day, i look up the weather forecast, it is going to be a cool summer day today, a slight chance of rain