I always get tripped up when I try to keep my feet stepping to the bass rhythm tempos bumping from my 808 Ghetto Blaster. The Fat Boys are indeed back!!!

Feels like sneakers are attached to my chewed bubble gum shoes, no matter how caught up I get in the shadows of approaching skyscrapers.

When I'm not tripping over curbside trashcans, I'm tripping over peyote receptacles as I make my way to the downtown fish market.

Christian bible peddlers enter hotel lobbies and slip copies of Revelations beneath the love seat cushions. The "New Age Tao of the Divine Bonzai Trees Convention" is in town.

Although the concrete smells of freshly fallen rain, the stink of a thousand dead pigs still finds it's way in from China Town.

matt out