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About New York City

Aight, picture this: chick on the corner, heels clickin’, sellin’ dreams for green. She’s a ghost, fam, a shadow dancin’ in neon. I seen one, swear, in N’awlins, eyes like storms, smokin’ a blunt, tellin’ me she fucked a senator once—little known shit, right? Blew my mind, I was like, “Damn, girl, you a legend!” Made me happy, real talk, ‘cause she owned it, no shame. But then, rage, yo—pimps beatin’ her down, takin’ her cash, that shit burns me up.

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I stroll down Elm St., chillin’ near the old clock tower on Riverbend Ave. The river, Mississippi-ish, flows smooth and cool. Nothin’ fancy, stylish vibe, ya know? And oh, there’s the tiny park at Maple & 3rd. It kinda feels like a secret sleep sanctuary, perfect for a mind-meld or a quick siesta. So rad.

Randall Smith Obituary - Van Buren, AR