CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
2007 – Action Reaction
It was April, and I turned 34.
I’d logged a year and change of supervised release, a year and change redlining policy reports at Mundo’s father’s company and over seven months living in Flatbush. Things were running smoothly. No major stressors or red flags. Working real estate kept me busy on the weekends and Mundo had finally backed off on bugging me about moving to Panama.
Whenever I had a minute to ask myself how I was doing, I’d realize my life was dead quiet. Straight up boring, frankly, but that didn’t bother me. For the time being I embraced it. I’d spent so many years running questionable errands up and down the tri-state area, at all hours of the day and night. Then there were my prison years where privacy was an abstract concept- maybe I was meant to spend my thirties wrapped up in solitude and paperwork.
What I really wanted to do was travel. Take my parents to Haiti and the DR for a few weeks. Get Hopeton to show me around Jamaica. Backpack around France on the solo tip. Fuck it, even Montréal would be dope for a long weekend.
But I was gonna toe the line until I was free to do whatever I damned well pleased. There was nothing in Brooklyn worth leaving my house at night for and I don’t think I could find a girl worth dating if my very life depended on it. I was getting old.
In May, Mundo finally hit me up via text:
Bolo’s officially retired. I’m the bigga boss now.
I waited fifteen minutes then sent a reply:
Did your father tell you that?
Mundo’s response was immediate:
Haha, funny motherfucker. I’m serious. When are you able to travel?
I left him on read for an hour or so, then sent him a stupid gif of Mr. Met doing the Wop.
He didn’t write back.
