“The first time I saw Popo 17 he was staring at me like he was sizing me up for a beating.
Red bandana, arms folded, eyes locked on the only white guy dumb enough to live south of 5th Avenue.” I didn’t know it then, but the scariest man on my block — a guy who bragged about killing — would become the only flower in that junkyard of a neighborhood, and one of my best friends.
I blew my marriage and had to find another place to live.
Not the easiest thing to do in trendy Park Slope, Brooklyn, when you’re short on dough.
I was heartbroken about leaving my kids — both little — but I vowed not to divorce them along with my wife.
I was determined to stay in the neighborhood and keep showing up for them.
Between legal fees and moving costs I was desperate…
LENDZ
