Mr. Charlie

The year that past retraced its steps…

Welcome to the wonderful world of Grey where life is suspended and issues are placed into a microwave then dumped in a sink. Watch the dirty plates dance and wash themselves as the food circle around the drain only to later disappear then suddenly reappear on the floor, ceilings and on the walls.

Abhi’s the concierge that crept and the residents refer to him as a creep so imagine what his wife must think of him. Third shift Abhi will tow your car at night while you are sleeping just because he doesn’t own a car. He says that the subway works just fine. He hates on anyone and everyone that could afford a higher standard of living but if you grease his palms he will smile and look the other way. We all make mistakes but when a comedy of errors is made we can only look at ourselves to correct the wrong that is within.

Mr. Charlie has to be about 46 years of age. He’s country old school pimpin, mang dressing like he just came from a dancehall event, wearing dress pants with black ¾ tube socks with shoes thinking nobody will notice. WTF! Its called lotion my dude ash on dark skin is too revealing plus it’s not sexy. Mr. Charlie is what most people call him cause you can’t call people Uncle Tom anymore. Mr. Charlie is the company house nicca, I mean he’s the company overseer. Bald head, open toe flip-flop wearin, stomach so flat you can see right through him. He must weigh about 93lbs wet, lookin like a modern day Gandhi, “Just pick up the slice of pizza, sir and slowly back away from the goat. That’s not called dating. That’s called something else”.

You already know he can be found at the local strip club talking bout how he makes it rain. Uncle Tom, I mean Mr. Charlie enjoys sitting in the corner and paying $5, per record, per lap dance. “Look at me. I’m old and disgusting to look at behind doors and walls but with money in my pocket I can get all the attention, until my money runs out”. He frequents a spot where the bitches got C section scars, stitches, battle wounds from knife fights and gunshot wounds from running their phuckin mouth too much. Every nurse and doctor in the E.R. knows all the girls by their first name.

Mr. Charlie would also often post up at the local Westend gas station casino lounge. As soon as you enter the back room one can hear Mr. Charlie say, “Com’on here, hit me now”. Charlie be stackin chips like a chair.  He’s so skinny, one could see his narrow ass tryin to balance himself on it. He be in the back flippin his ones like a bloody mattress in da hood, white tops style, just waiting on a $1 hoe to surface so he could buy them a pack of Newport’s and a bottle of Colt 45 malt liquor to jump start the party.

The Family Concern:

Abu said, “Abhi you’re no longer working the farm back home, man. People here in America don’t sleep with farm animals, anymore. Get with the times. I didn’t come to America to be the town clown like you, my friend. It only cost a $1.50 to take a peek at what a circus clown from India looks like. Where’s your pride, dude?

Baba told me he dropped you off at Club Prive on a Tuesday night. Sasha was bartending that night and you were buying men drinks and carrying on like a fool. Silly man, you’ve been driving taxi in the sun and opening doors for Ms. Daisy at that big fancy suburban high-rise on Midtown at night, for far too long. Don’t you know Tuesday’s are for men only? Didn’t you notice there were no women there”? Abhi said “My name is Mr. Charlie now. Abhi is dead to me. Besides, my new wife has her own opinion about matters”.

Abu said, “Abhi, why are you talking shyt, man? You know you can’t go back to India talking bout your woman has a voice. The villagers will stone you to death. You walk around every day talking on the phone like you’re a big shot. Those big wireless headphones you have on your head look ridiculous. You act so important. I recall when you were on the phone talking big money politics. Everybody knew you were talking to air. When your phone rang you acted like you got disconnected. You are living a lie, Abhi.

You never owned a pair of shoes until you came to America. Back home, you shared an outhouse and didn’t know what a bathroom room was like with running water until you came here. Listen man, you’re not a broker you don’t sell stock. You’re just broke.

Baba is ashamed of you. You say, “It’s the Indian in me”. It’s more like you let a man put his little Indian inside your bottom while going to the bathroom. For your information the bathroom is not a hotel. This is not the bathhouse back home, Abhi. It’s no wonder why you didn’t have any children up until recently. There’s nothing wrong with Martha. You said she was broken. I think you didn’t know the proper hole to use. Now that you finally have a daughter after trying for 15 years, hitting the wrong hole, when are you going to make Baba happy and have a son?

The Trouble with Abhi:

It’s difficult to comprehend how a grown man cannot use his own bathroom to take a dump. Taking away a man’s privilege to the throne is like removing the king’s crown without warning.

Abhi’s swimming in wet cement and going nowhere fast. Each and every time Mr. Charlie looks at his baby girl he sees the woman that he despised the most, his wife of 15 years. Abhi just couldn’t get passed their resemblance and wanted no parts of her.

One night after coming home late from hanging out at the strip club, drinking, fooling around and smelling like a sour sausage left out on the curb during the summer time; his wife met him at the door. Martha helped take off Abhi’s blazer, shoes and pants just to get a whiff of him which also confirmed her suspicion of his cheating ways. She asked him if he was hungry and told him that his plate was in the microwave.

2 hours later nicca woke up in the hospital after he gobbled down poisonous food and pasted out on the kitchen floor, falling face first. The doctors pumped his stomach and discharged him the following day. His wife had fixed him a special plate for all her years of pain and suffering, she endured. As he lay in his hospital bed thinking about what had went wrong in his marriage all the questions and answers pointed right back at Abhi. He remembered telling his wife years ago that he loved her when, in fact, he didn’t. He expressed to her that she was the only one when in reality he had three other women he was juggling; a stripper, a gas attendant and a resident that lived in the building he worked. He talks about how much money he has and how badly he wants a divorce but does nothing about getting a divorce. Abhi says, “It’s cheaper to keep her, man”. He’s been talking about a divorce for years but says that he has to hide his money first.

All three women asked him did he have any children. Ole boy lied by telling them he didn’t have any children. Mr. Charlie said, “I have a child not children. Man children are a deal breaker. Shyt if you tell a hot momma that you got a kid, you might as well kiss that pucci goodbye. Mama didn’t raise no fool”. Brutha asked him about his pop. Abhi said, “Man phuck pop, he’s probably out drinking somewhere throwing up on himself in a corn field”.

Mr. Charlie spent most of his life lifting and moving around furniture, in his head. This bald eagle who’s more like a malnourished vulture, circling its prey says that he goes to the strip club and casinos in search of the walking wounded. When Mr. Charlie spots a zombie he sharpens and baits his claws and swoops down for the kill, snatches them up and takes them to his favorite perch for fun and more games. He brags about when he goes out he makes a killing on women that are in need of a life saver. “Why not throw them a rope in their time of need? We all win. It’s not my fault she lost all her money playing the slots. Nobody should look at me funny if I offer her some dyck, I mean some assistance in the process. It’s a win-win situation”.

Da Midtown Hustle:

Midtown Atlanta is a bee hive sorta like a hub for strange activity. It’s a Home Owners Advantage a privilege to say the least, to live in the area and a building such as this one. From money, food, alcohol to Viagra not to mention other thangs the secret hand shake in this line of business is conducted; the fair exchange of a kind gesture where gifts are silently agreed upon without uttering one single word.

Welcome to the building where if you smoke weed Abhi will rat you out and have your ass evicted quick along with any people of your kind. “I got a rapper out of here because he smoked weed every day. I think his name was Thug or Cash Money something. He would be drag racing his corvette in the parking garage. The man wouldn’t listen so I made some moves and got him out of here. This is an upscale place and those type of people need to go back to the south side where they come from.

Abhi doesn’t need any proof unless you’re an owner. He also makes sure that all visitors are announced before they proceed upstairs unless the resident’s profile reads something differently. As a owner, if you can live with the steep fines, you can take full advantage of your rights verse being a renter. It’s called weeding out undesirables. You know your kind.

There’s a barbwire fence of defense to get approval of things. H.O.A dues, move in; move out fees, key fob, key release forms, bike decals, package pickup, parking clicker, visitor’s pass, visitor’s parking pass and don’t forget to pickup your dog when walking through the lobby. We don’t want your little furry friend having an accident in the lobby or in the elevator now do we? Don’t forget Abhi will write you up and make sure management fines you a pretty penny.

Nature vs. Nurture: An individual’s innate qualities verses personal experiences.

Nicca’s married and has a little girl. He’s the type that doesn’t know how to properly communicate with others. He thinks by speaking like a big shot and calling himself “A money man” who doesn’t have time to push paper. He thinks he’s attracting the correct attention. When out and about he doesn’t know how to reframe from talking about himself or what he has, how much money he makes and what kind of investments he’s into, if any .

Brutha tried to offer Abhi some friendly advice on being a good listener while trying to talk to the ladies. Brutha suggested the ole clown to try not to talk about money, his work and about himself. Nicca Abhi replied, “If I do that what will I talk about”? Brutha looked at him and asked, “What have you learned about women after all these years on this earth”? Abhi had a blank slate stare upon his face. Brutha said, “Some women dislike a man that’s self absorbed and doesn’t know how to listen, it becomes a turn off. A woman will tend to frown on a dude that’s all about himself and talking about the “I” factor”. Some things that don’t come natural have to be taught.

Brutha said, “When I was in college my English professor asked the class to write an essay without using the word “I” to describe you”. This was a lesson that stayed with him for the rest of his life and is now passing it on to Vulture, I mean Cousin Charlie. When befriending a sellout; a straight up house nicca, one has to wear protective gear, front and back. This type of nicca will stab you in the back and then ask you what had happen and who would do something like this?

Abhi comes to work only to mack the youngin’s by playing the touchy feely game. He likes to give hugs and take the memory of the women with him to the bathroom just to touch himself. One girl threw a dollar on the floor after he hugged her and had gotten an erection. Nicca smiled and picked up the dollar. Now people in the building call him a dollar hoe. He doesn’t have a sensitive eye and ear of social matters. Yeah, the lights are on but nobody is home. He’s a lid lifter. Master Charlie Bates sits in the corner and masturbates to the rhythm of a memory from a hug.

One couple entered the building and Abhi said, “Look at this crab ass nicca. He doesn’t have a favorite basketball team but he’s a fan of the game”. (To translate that coded shyt; he likes to date oppose to commit.) Abhi said, “He’s a Jordan fan but will slob down Kobe quick just to be able to say he’s a dyck ryder. I’m sure he’ll say he’s a Jay-Z fan as well. Every time I see him with his girlfriend he be trying to see if I be checkin out his girl. That nicca need to check his girl’s wondering eye.

Besides she can do better and I don’t blame her for looking my way buddy, based on that slob she’s currently with. This is a dude living off his uncle’s money and success. Big cry baby type of a man. He’s very insecure about himself and has a problem with communicating with others. He has a phucked up speech impediment, too. Back home I’d throw a dead rat at him. His girl does have a nice ass. You know I be hitting dat. Dude is so discussing to look at. Little Buda. It’s doesn’t take a rocket scientist to imagine what honey has to deal with when the lights go out. Its days like this I’m glad I was born a man. Hey man, you want some candy? I would eat it but my teeth hurt”.

Harlem,

Heaven is at the foot of Mother…