How do you get from here to the rest of the world?


Gems from the best TV show ever

Man On Stoop: I’m sayin’, every Friday night in an alley behind the Cut Rate, we rollin’ bones, you know? I mean all them boys, we roll til late. McNulty: Alley crap game, right? Man On Stoop: Like every time, Snot, he’d fade a few shooters, play it out til the pot’s deep. Snatch and run. McNulty: What, every time? Man On Stoop: Couldn’t help hisself. McNulty: Let me understand. Every Friday night, you and your boys are shootin’ craps, right? And every Friday night, your pal Snot Boogie… he’d wait til there’s cash on the ground and he’d grab it and run away? You let him do that? Man On Stoop: We’d catch him and beat his ass but ain’t nobody ever go past that. McNulty: I gotta ask ya: If every time Snotboogie would grab the money and run away, why’d you even let him in the game? Man On Stoop: What? McNulty: If Snotboogie always stole the money, why’d you let him play? Man On Stoop: Got to. This America, man.

Gus: Just because they’re in the street doesn’t mean they lack opinions. Templeton: Where am I going to find homeless people? Gus: Not at home, I imagine.

Bubbles:  [to Kima] How y’all do what y’all do every day and not wanna get high?

Bunk Moreland: So, you’re my eyeball witness, huh? [Omar nods] So, why’d you step up on this? Omar: Bird triflin’, basically. Kill an everyday workin’ man and all. I mean, I do some dirt, too, but I ain’t never put my gun on nobody that wasn’t in the game. Bunk: A man must have a code. Omar: Oh, no doubt.

D’Angelo: I want what Wallace wanted. I want to start over. That’s what I want. I don’t care where. Anywhere. I don’t give a fuck. I just want to go somewhere, where I can breathe like regular folk.

Ilene: And what is your occupation? Omar: Occupation? Ilene: What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Little? Omar: I rip and run. Ilene: You… Omar: I robs drug dealers. Ilene: And exactly how long has this been your occupation, Mr. Little? Omar: Well, I don’t know exactly. I venture to say maybe ’bout eight or nine years. Ilene: Mr. Little, how does a man rob drug dealers for eight or nine years and live to tell about it? Omar: Day at a time, I suppose.

Lester: From the looks of things, Stringer Bell’s worse than a drug dealer. Prez: He’s a developer.

Freamon: A life, Jimmy, you know what that is? It’s the shit that happens while you’re waiting for moments that never come.

Walon: Look, forgiveness from other folks is good, but ain’t nothin’ but words comin’ at you from outside. You want to kick this shit, you got to forgive your own self. Love yourself some, brother. And then drag your sorry ass to some meetings. Bubbles: Meetings? Walon: What the fuck do you wanna hear? That you’re strong enough to do this by yourself? Gettin’ clean’s the easy part. And then comes life.

Bunny Colvin: Somewhere back in the beginning of time, this district had itself a civic dilemma of epic proportions. The city council had just passed a law that forbade alcoholic consumption in public areas; on the streets and on the corners. But the corner is, it was and it always will be the poorman’s lounge. It’s where a man wants to be on a hot summer’s night. It’s cheaper than a bar. Catch a nice breeze and watch the girls go on by. But the law is the law so what are the western cops gonna do? They arrest every dude for tipping back a High Life, there’d be no time for any other kind of police work. And if they look the other way, they open themselves up to all kinds of flaunting, all kinds of disrespect. Now, this is before my time but somewhere back in the 50’s or the 60’s, there was a moment of goddamn genius by some nameless smokehound who comes out the Cut-Rate one day and on his way to the corner he slips that just bought pint of elderberry into a paper bag. A great moment of civic compromise. That small wrinkled ass paper bag allowed the corner boys to have their drink in peace and gave us permission to go and do police work. The kind of police work that’s actually worth the effort, that’s actually worth taking a bullet for. Dozerman got shot last night buying three vials. Three. There has never been a paper bag for drugs. Until now.

Walon: Shame is some tricky shit, ain’t it? Makes you feel like you want to change, and then beats you back down when you think you can’t.

Cutty: I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is… not everything comes down to how you carry it in the street.  I mean, it do come down to that if you gonna be in the street. But that ain’t the only way to be.   Dukie: Round here it is.   Cutty: Yeah. Round here it is. World is bigger than that, at least, that’s what they tell me.  Dukie: Like… how do you get from here to the rest of the world?  Cutty: I wish I knew.


About Drakakis

Street Poet scribbling to your tired, your poor, your huddled masses; the wretched refuse of your teeming shore, the homeless, tempest-tost ...
This entry was posted in Addictions, Crime, Police, Youth. Bookmark the permalink.

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