“Lobbzilla, when we finish this bottle I’m going to kick your ass just for fun. Stomp you so bad your mama ain’t gonna know you, just because you is such an ugly, white motherfucker.”

-Hector Luis Barrara.

Somehow, tell me you took all that to another place. I like to think you are out there in another part of the universe fucking shit up, for no other reason than somebody has to fuck it up.

We, long ago, decided to provide the world that balance. We served a purpose.

Your black eyes combusted when you said the word – evil. You blamed it on the witches, but we both knew it wasn’t witches. Leave your abuela out of it. We know who owns this.

That’s how we rolled, Spic and Span.

I was Span…

You left me here with all these blankeetos who think they are badasses. They ain’t shit. They think they are crazy, like that’s a kids game. It ain’t no game. They don’t know crazy.

Christmas breakfast: A small handful of some reds and a quart of Clan Macgreggor. Watching you spin the barrel of that hot .38, contemplating your current rage. Planning your next rage.

I wondered daily if you were going to kill me.

Rage on, Luisito

I’ll fight you, bitch.