A Hot Spot!

Believe it or not, 825 Dwain Drive, was the place to be.  My mother single handily created a "Hot Spot".  My brother and I sold my mother's liquor by the shot every Friday to the neighborhood kids.

My mother always bought her liquor by the Texas Fifth.  A Texas Fifth is a huge bottle of alcohol.   It actually looks ridiculous when compared to normal bottles of whiskey.  My poor mother never could drink.  One whiff of whiskey and she was as drunk as Coodie Brown.

Now,  I can not remember if it was my brother's idea, my idea or we came upon this scam collectively.  We sold her liquor for a dollar a shot , which was quite expensive in the late '60s.

 My mother was a cold whore, flatly refused to give us any money.  Told us we should get out and hustle for  it,  like she did.  Ask for an allowance; " I ALLOW YOU TO LIVE NIGGA!  Allow me to put my foot up yo' ass!"   "Shit! Nigga! earn yo' own fucking money if you want some money.  Don't be assin'  me fuh  no muthfuckin'  money 'cause I ain't got nun!"  

We always had to work or "hustle".  She claimed she was simply preparing us for the real world.  We agreed, no argument from us.  Thus,  I sold term papers, rented books, sold you copies of my copious notes, allowed you to copy off of my paper, found all the answers to the memo graphed copy of the exam you fished out of the teacher's trash can.   Sold Chilli dogs, hustled rides to the airport and bus station.

 My mother taught me ; "Play to win!  Shit yo' in duh muthfucker…mays well win'hit!"

'Ok, ok…I'll try it your way."  My granddaddy said; "When your head is in the lion's mouf…don't make no sudden moves."  So I quietly earned good grades, kept myself up, read and studied my ass off.  Got the hell out of that camp just as soon as I could.

No matter how much of her liquor we sold,  we always replaced it with tea.  She would get just as drunk off of that watered down whiskey as the real stuff.  We would look at her, shake our heads and say; "Look at that bitch … just as drunk!"

  Every weekend Mathy got drunk, threw up, then demanded 24 hour attention.  Ice crusted with a hammer, Chicken Noodle soup (If the noodles were too long you had to cut them with a fork.) , only white saltine crackers.  We were glad to serve.

Poor little orphans, throwed away, no daddy-having-children-, just some crumb snatchers, just another brood of niggers.  No!   GOD said NO!

Remember; "a part from Christ we are nothing."

[Excerpt from THE JR WALTERS CHRONICLES   December 5, 2014  All rights reserved.]