Whitney slides off the ledge next to me, we are having our third stoop sale in 3 days. Minimal profits yet we are hopeful, "Im going to make margaritas," as the door shuts behind her. I look up to see Harry sitting behind the tree where he resides everyday selling, stealing and slopping back malt beverages. One after another, the Solo is always half full. A middle schooler in jean cut-offs and a book bag walks by, he is on a cell telling some likely similar looking adolescent about the posse he kicks it with on the weekends. Consisting of himself and two young girls trying too hard wearing their mom's lipstick. Rob taps me on the shoulder, "Im having a warehouse party in the city," he passes me a flyer as he trots down the stoop into the street. "you should come" A rather flamboyant fellow is dancing in the back as Rob drives off. 20$ for a rave trance dance till 8am party is not in my budget. No work tomorrow so if I get a free pass to the labor day dancefest I might attend. Whitney hands me a margarita and i realize its getting cold.
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