Thirty

Southside port city harbors the innocent and the sinister, childish

embraces of all things rebellious. Broken bottle mosaic brandishing

resin waters in the sidewalk mines, procrastinating silence slumber

restlessly in the wake of freedom. A time when the greenery blossomed

with young bucks, a time when gold arch was not affiliated with Ronald.

Caged rooftop, cram sessions, laughter halls, ramen vendors, assorted

meat fried rice, gender bender, urban soul, and athletic dominance.

Barbeques, toad hunt, egg drop, boy scouts, food fairs, musical

productions, prom nights, and really, why are there chaperones.

Somewhere down the line, a gradual change in the administration

of testosterones and hormones gave the rise to imperial defiance

from the things that were. Humbled by excess and extolled with recess.

Pool parties, amusement parks, censorship, shaved heads, unfiltered

packs, after-hour gypsies, bandanas, and undefeated championships.

Street-side lamb skewers, wholesale shopping, exclusive access, duffle

bags, zigzags, and really, limelight dawned like on Kobe and Shaq.

Untouchable was the motto but a decade was quick to fade, into

sunset a new generation stomping batons led the way, returning

to a familiar riverside is never easy as originals came to predicted.

Fresh smiles and craves entangle the same vine, one that runs in

the vessels of all those reminiscing departed. Not a day goes by and

by when pride for the sturdy horns of Rams is cheaply disregarded.