In the footnote: He read Basketball diaries, but he was Latino and he did not wear a shirt titled, Latinidad, or at least not out in the daylight, or it was that his shirt titled Latinidad was too tight to fit into. He could finger roll like Ewing. He could fake to one side while backing down a privileged white boy in Carl Schulz park on 86th street near the East River, like Pippen (but not Mike). The large hulking building to the right was where Margaret Sanger’s son grew up, and eventually someone got pregnant. He hated being expected to do more than he was. The rest of the day was spent catching butterflies in a small net, and watching them come to rest in a container bought from the party store. He felt them deeply as their wings slowed to a rest, and the beautiful colors shined in the polluted light over the FDR driver. It all made sense.
Jonathan Andrew Pérez, Esq. has been published among elsewhere: Prelude, The River Heron Review, Blood Tree Literature, The Chicago Quarterly, The Worcester Review, Cathexis Northwest Press, Rumblefish, Hiram Poetry Review, POETRY, Split Lip Magazine, and Hayden’s Ferry Review.
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