I don't know, " I said. "What else did you do for your first eighteen years?" "Like I said, " he said as I unlocked the car, "I'm not so sure that you should go by my example." "Why not?" "Because I have my regrets, " he said. "Also, I'm a guy. And guys do different stuff." "Like ride bikes?" I said. "No, " he replied. "Like have food fights. And break stuff. And set off firecrackers on people's front porches. And... " "Girls can't set off firecrackers on people's front porches?" "They can, " he said... "But they're smart enough not to. That's the difference.
I don't know," I said. "What else did you do for your first eighteen years?" "Like I said," he said as I unlocked the car, "I'm not so sure that you should go by my example." "Why not?" "Because I have my regrets," he said. "Also, I'm a guy. And guys do different stuff." "Like ride bikes?" I said. "No," he replied. "Like have food fights. And break stuff. And set off firecrackers on people's front porches. And..." "Girls can't set off firecrackers on people's front porches?" "They can," he said... "But they're smart enough not to. That's the difference.
It seems like our town has closed down these days leading up to the funeral. Old people still sit on their porches and talk, but their conversations aren't sprinkled with laughter anymore. Since the new, little kids haven't played outside, as if their moms are afraid someone might snatch them out of their yards and send them off to war.
Kimberly Willis Holt
Enormous oak trees towered over the boulevard, which boasted homes with fine woodwork, wraparound porches, and moss on the sidewalks. 'There's nothing like a house in New Orleans. Would you look at those balconies and columns?' He rolled his window down to take in the sounds of life in New Orleans.
This boy - his name was Eric - said he thought it disgusting the way all the girls at my college stood around on the porches under the porch lights and in the bushes in plain view, necking madly before the one o'clock curfew, so everybody passing by could see them. A million years of evolution, Eric said bitterly, and what are we? Animals.
Is it not curious, that so vast a being as the whale should see the world through so small an eye, and hear the thunder through an ear which is smaller than a hare's? But if his eyes were broad as the lens of Herschel's great telescope; and his ears capacious as the porches of cathedrals; would that make him any longer of sight, or sharper of hearing? Not at all.-Why then do you try to "enlarge" your mind? Subtilize it
I learned a history not then written in books but one passed from generation to generation on the steps of moonlit porches and beside dying fires in one-room houses, a history of great-grandparents and of slavery and of the days following slavery; of those who lived still not free, yet who would not let their spirits be enslaved.
Mildred D. Taylor
I will never forget who this victory truly belongs to. It belongs to you. It belongs to you. I was never the likeliest candidate for this office. We didn't start with much money or many endorsements. Our campaign was not hatched in the halls of Washington. It began in the backyards of Des Moines and the living rooms of Concord and the front porches of Charleston. It was built by working men and women who dug into what little savings they had to give $5 and $10 and $20 to the cause.
Everything in New Orleans is a good idea. Bijou temple-type cottages and lyric cathedrals side by side. Houses and mansions, structures of wild grace. Italianate, Gothic, Romanesque, Greek Revival standing in a long line in the rain. Roman Catholic art. Sweeping front porches, turrets, cast-iron balconies, colonnades- 30-foot columns, gloriously beautiful- double pitched roofs, all the architecture of the whole wide world and it doesn't move.
It was the world of Southern, rural, black growing up, of folks sitting on porches day and night, of folks calling your mama, 'cause you walked by and didn't speak, and of the switch waiting when you got home so that you could be taught some manners. It was a world of single black older women schoolteachers, dedicated, tough; they had taught your mama, her sisters, and her friends. They knew your people in ways that you never would and shared their insight, keeping us in touch with generations. It was a world where we had a history.
WHO SAY ST. LOUIS AIN'T HIP HOP? DIRTY WE HOP TO WHAT'S HIP I'M A LUNATIC WITH TOO MUCH GRIP TO LET A SLIP I'M SO ST. LOUIS, ASK MY TATOOIST I WAS LIKE THE WATERBOY NOW THEY SAYIN YOU CAN DO IT I'M BABY HOUIE ONE OF THE BEST IN THE LOUIE SIP LOUIE SMOKE LOUIE, DRESSED IN LOUIE HOME OF BACK PORCHES, CHUCKS, AND AIR FORCES OLD SCHOOL CARS BE TRAILBLAZIN LIKE PORTLAND THE GIRLS ARE THE BEST LIKE TRAVIS WITH FAT ASSES I CALL 'EM GIMME GIRLS THEY ALWAYS TELL ME I CAN HAVE IT ALL GOT HABITS BITCHES EXSTATIC BY TWO CATS AND COATS WITH AUTOMATICS ST. LOUIS, THE TRUTH LIKE SIGOURNA DON'T NEED A BURNA WE LEARN FROM IKE TURNER I TRIED TO TOLD YA DON'T CROSS THAT BRIDGE WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM THOSE ST. LUNATICS
Jermaine Dupri F/ Ludacris
GET DRUNK Always be drunk. That's it! The great imperative! In order not to feel Time's horrid fardel bruise your shoulders, grinding you into the earth, Get drunk and stay that way. On what? On wine, poetry, virtue, whatever. But get drunk. And if you sometimes happen to wake up on the porches of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the dismal loneliness of your own room, your drunkenness gone or disappearing, ask the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock, ask everything that flees, everything that groans or rolls or sings, everything that speaks, ask what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will answer you: 'Time to get drunk! Don't be martyred slaves of Time, Get drunk! Stay drunk! On wine, virtue, poetry, whatever!
Just as the Mediterranean separated France from the country Algiers, so did the Mississippi separate New Orleans proper from Algiers Point. The neighborhood had a strange mix. It looked seedier and more laid-back all at the same time. Many artists lived on the peninsula, with greenery everywhere and the most beautiful and exotic plants. The French influence was heavy in Algiers, as if the air above the water had carried as much ambience as it could across to the little neighborhood. There were more dilapidated buildings in the community, but Jackson and Buddy passed homes with completely manicured properties, too, and wild ferns growing out of baskets on the porches, as if they were a part of the architecture. Many of the buildings had rich, ornamental detail, wood trim hand-carved by craftsmen and artisans years ago. The community almost had the look of an ailing beach town on some forgotten coast.
I KNOW SOME LIL' NIGGAS THAT THIRST CREAM THAT POP A BITCH ON CAMERA AND WE AIN'T TALKIN' BOUT TWERK TEAM SHOOTIN' UP CRIBS TURNIN' PORCHES TO SMOKESCREENS MAMA SMOKING NIGHTMARES CHASIN' HER PIPE DREAM HARD TO GIVE ADVICE BEHIND THE MIND OF THE CALL SO HIS LIMITS HAVE CEILINGS CAUSE HIS POP BEHIND WALLS SCHOOL BECOME A FREE MEAL TREE BECOME A CHEAP THRILL SAME PRICES PA PAID HE GON' PAY A CHEAP DEAL HOURGLASSS EMPTY BUT HE LOOKIN' FOR A REFILL REVOLVER BREAKDANCIN, YEAH HE MAKE THAT BITCH WINDMILL GUESS HE'S JUST A PSYCHO IN THE CITY IN THE CHRYSLER EVERYBODY LIVIN' SPITEFUL NIGGA LOOKIN' JUST TO ICE YOU SO WE LIVIN' HOSTILE JUST TO COP SOME AEROPOSTALE TRENCHCOAT MAFIA, FOR A LIL' HOLLISTER GOTTA GET HIS DOLLAS UP SO WE HIT THE DICE GAME LOST ALL HIS RE-UP, NOW HE ROB THE DICE GAME PROBATION VIOLATION CALL HIS ASS THE SON OF SATAN GOT THESE OLD NIGGAS SCARED LIKE IT'S CRYSTAL LAKE AND JASON CAUSE THEY BEEN THROUGH CASES THEY AIN'T TRYNA GO BACK FRESH MEAT UP ON THE STREET HE GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT SNATCHIN' CARTI'S DOWNTOWN WEAR 'EM SAME DAMN WEEK TRYNA GET THE SAME BITCHES ON THE SAME DAMN STREET ROB A HO ASS NIGGA AT THE SAME DAMN TIME AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, AT THE SAME DAMN TIME CAUSE THEY GREMLINS
It took only a few hours for an exaggerated version of the attack on Dr. De Glew to reach all of Stanley. The big orderly told his wife; she told her sister who was married to a gas station worker; he in turn described the fight to a helper on the tank truck that serviced the Stanley station in competition with Gurmandy's. The two-man staff of the station plus four hangers-on and three children heard a tale of how a man who had turned into a wolf was vanquished by a seven-foot-tall Negro doctor armed with a pitch torch and how the wolf-man was even now stalking the towns in Washington, Bolivar, and Rapture counties. By nightfall terror held full sway. No locks could withstand the assault of the killer. No weapons save the torch could fend him off. No areaway was free of his shadow nor any wooded place safe from his onslaught. Every dog's bay was the wolf cry of the maddened man. On the plantations toward MacAllister and Skene, terrified tenants were brought to the main house by pickup truck to sleep on porches, in the kitchens, and in outbuildings. When the moon came up yellow that night over the flat land, the families in from the field gathered around a big fire and salted it with sulphur; their voices sounded low and awed drifting up to the windows of the dining room in the main house where the plantation owner ate with his own family. Around the fire, old men talked of the days before the tall evergreen cane was felled, of how wolves as big as lions crept among the cabins and watched while the older boys went by, waiting to grab off the youngest of the toddlers amid the screams of desolated mothers. Then the eyes of the youngsters around the fire grew wide. They sobbed and pressed up against their mothers, until one of the other men said sharply, 'Hush up, you're scaring the children.' There was silence then around the fire for a while, each with his own thoughts: of wolves who were truly men and men who were wolves. No man rode horseback at night if he could avoid it, and no hitchhiker was offered a lift save by the foolhardy or the secret death-lover. For town dwellers, the walk in at twilight from the garage to the house seemed inordinately long and dark.
Leslie H. Whitten Jr.