This Godforsaken World

0ce9f08ad97502a65d8b7c25811389c4

Like O.D.B. yelped in the nineties, “Let’s take
it back to ’79” … as in 18
79. Billy the Kid was New
York Yankee with a six-shooter on each hip.
Some folks said he was a righty. Others claim
he was a southpaw like big Randy Johnson.
Truth be told, he was ambidextrous, meaning
Kid could shoot the lights out with either hand, just
like number 23 himself, aka
Michael Jordan. Remember that game against
Portland in The Finals when he hit five threes
in the first quarter and turned to Magic like,
“Hey man … I don’t know what’s going on either.”
Some folks are just better at tapping into
the divine light and riding the waves of time
in and out of reality. The birds speak.
Some people can hear what they say. Some folks can’t.
My dark-skinned bro Alejandro would have been
pals with Billy the Kid. He got along well
with most rancheros south of the border. Si?
Por supuesto. They called Billy “Vato,” no?
He was like the uncle in Indian Camp
written by Ernest Hemingway back in the
roaring twenties. While people like Caraway
were carousing with Jay Gatsby and his clones
the uncle was living amongst the red-skinned
men and women of an unnamed tribe. He walked
among them, but he was not one of them. In
fact, his brother (the Doctor) barely spoke to
him on the canoe trip across the water
to deliver his half-breed child into…

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