My man Ronald. It's been a long 13 years. Back to 1993-1994. Summer school. Me, you and Danny Shin. Getting hustled by you for my comics books outside of Carey Hall. I didn't know about the barcode on the front, but I learned quick. Soujourner-Douglass College. The lounge. Exploring the 4th floor. Fucking with the janitor Bernard. Always up to no good. Minds always on a scheme. I had it in me, but you brought it out. P.I.C.
This isn't the "get your life ruined on some nonsense" blog. So i'll keep the capers to myself. When your about it, you don't have to talk about it.
Alot of things go unsaid in our friendship, as it should. But if my pops passing taught me anything, it's to say what should be said before it's too late. And you never know it's too late until.
When my pops passed, I came home. Ronald called my house. I told him the business. He told me "Damn, thats fucked up."
He told me the truth. No lies, no weak ass euphemisims. He knew I was hurt, and he didn't know what to say, so he told me the truth. And this in this, lies his greatness. No matter what, I get the truth from my man because thats what he gives himself. Love it or hate it, it doesn't much matter because he'll never be anything else. Always. No high-octane fuel. His truth gives me grounding, motivation, clarity. The truth lets me know that he's there to ride to the end. That friendship means more than what you see on MTV.
Somebody once told me that he can't see how we are friends. If you know me, I can't see how we wouldn't be.
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