Salty PorkyFacebook!

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The way my pride is set up I could be home crying your name into my pillow every nite but you will never hear from me again.¯\_(ツ)_/¯


Life - It ain't easy but it sweet!

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Urban Folk Tales Flash Fiction Friday. - Cue: sick, prick, flick, stick, lick.

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Trixie break bottle to challenge Fancy the night the boy come and start to work Back Bar. It was like stick fight and the two drew power from the crowd. The lines were drawn and the crowd behind each stepped quickly, swirling and shuffling, a liquid unit behind them as they as a postured, throwing long shadows into the corners. Some of the people were out for laughs others out for blood. Most of them were looking for a kinda passive vengeance at some slight or hurt feel from either Trixie or Fancy that they hadn’t the courage to carve out for themselves. It was an ancient dance, slow and rhythmic, with sudden syncopation like lightening when they sliced the air with their chosen bois. Fancy’s was the long barbershop razor she kept hidden in her breasts that she released with a soft flick as Trixie had break her bottle. Is like she know what was coming. The signs was showing that night.   The noise of the crowd pierced through everything: crying screaming women, men laughing,...
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Salty Pork Facebook! - Chicken Rage Edition

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De way people was running out of Massy yesterday with tray upon tray of fried chicken really made me stop and think about the kind of people were are as Trinidadians. What hurt me the most about the display is that no one seemed to care that I too stood in the line and waited for said chicken. Finally when I realized that I wouldn't be getting any I was so crushed that I sank to the floor in a fit of tears. I decided that the only way to spend my grief would be to clearly roll from one end of Massy to the other. A woman had the impertinence to lift the edge of her skirt and say to me "excuse me" politely while stepping over me as if I wasn't giving the greatest performance of my life. How very dare she? I received no sympathy or understanding from the security personnel at Massy as they tried to stop me and pick me up off the floor. It was only when it was already 7 of them and I heard them radio for backup that I thought I better make a quiet exit for my mo...
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Urban Folktales Flash Fiction Friday. - Cue: root, fruit, truth, youth, brute

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He was a brute. He was exactly the kind that I liked too: big and black and brooding, 6 foot 2 or 3 inches, probably 200 pounds. He spent his days working construction on the big building that was going up at the end of the block street. At least that’s where I saw him on my way to and from school every day.    When I first saw him I couldn’t even look at him without hanging my head and looking down at the ground. I felt hot all over and would blush hard, hard, hard. I tell you I could have signed up to understudy Rudolph if only my skin was light enough for all that red to shine through. With each glance my chest would tighten and my breath would quicken. At the same time lower parts of me would feel like the sun was calling for it to show itself and my legs felt as If they could not possibly open wide enough. A couple weeks in I saw him notice me. I would glance and glance and if I saw him see me I would look away quickly. He didn’t seem to care to tell you the truth....
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