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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Biggie Smalls was right. Things done changed.
He was familiar with the shape mourning leaves you in: bent, broken, shattered, grasping at anything that would make you feel whole again.
From high up he could see old cats chilling on benches sharing stories, women helping each other push carts of laundry, babies playing in the courtyard, teen lovebirds kissing by the stairs. Salsa, reggae, and jazz battling between Biggie lyrics. The sounds of basketballs bouncing on the court, dice hitting the wall during a game of cee-lo, grandpas slamming down chess pieces on fold-up tables against the young hustlers taking a break from making a dollar. There was beauty and joy hidden in the struggle.
when you’re in the thick of it, it’s hard to tell which lesson should be above the other.
I’m saying, sometimes music have you looking at the world through a different set of eyes.
“Life is a school called the school of life, young God,” he says with a shrug. “And one should never stop learning their lessons.”
“Pain . . . it can either make you or break you. And we trying to get made out here. You gotta keep going and remember who you doing this for. ’Cause you ain’t just doing this for Steph; you doing this for you.”
The truth will get you farther and faster than lying. ’Cause every lie gotta be followed up with another lie, and sooner or later you lose count.”
Music was life to Steph and ain’t nothing sadder than the sound of someone’s last heartbeat.
Death got a way of moving you. Whether you ready or not. Y’knowwhatumsayin?
