we’re getting really familiar with our neighborhood. morning is my favorite time. it feels so fresh and alive.
on our rides, almost all the people we see are Black people. Ming is Asian, and I’m white.
there are a few Hispanic people around. my mom was Mexican-American, and I feel some insight into the lives of the older Hispanic men we see–a compact, brown elder seems proud in his button down shirt, moving between his house and his truck.
the other day a couple of white people were walking their dogs, on leash, through our neighborhood. they looked like they’d slept indoors, for eight hours, and the only drugs they were addicted to were coffee and power.
I was like, who the hell are these people. the few white people we see in our neighborhood look more like they just woke up or haven’t slept yet, have a terrible hangover, wear dirty clothes, and have used a lot of meth.
their clothes are falling off their body, their baseball cap is on crooked, they have three day beard. their wallet chain swings as they walk. or their dress is very short and tight, and their hair is wildly messy. I look at their tattoos. I hope they’re ok.
meth users are my people. I never used meth, but I mean that yuppies confuse me. I look at them and wonder how they can maintain their lives so coldly and perfectly.
meth users make way more sense. their limp, swagger, or little steps on high heels as they walk down the sidewalk–that’s my idea of true power.
yuppie power is carefully hidden exploitation. money makes things so much easier! the people I relate to have been pissed on their whole lives, worked as escorts, worked fast food, have childhoods filled with trauma, have had their own children taken away from them, have had nothing handed to them but abuse, and survive anyway.
the yuppie smells of shampoo and deodorant, while the person I relate to smells of weed and body odor.
we pick ourselves up off the floor and keep going. that’s triumph–not getting a raise, or a kid graduating from college.
the yuppie walks for exercise–the person I relate to walks because their ex stole their car, their license was revoked, their bike is broken, and they can’t afford the parts to fix it.
I love our neighborhood, with its vacant lots that sparkle with broken glass, interesting trash, gangster rap, and random mattresses. dawn light makes everything beautiful, even me.
From zine Trike Diaries 2 by Laura-Marie River Victor Peace, published in summer 2020. Up for trades.