He spoke to me in the quickest fashion.
Slang, curse words but with passion.
He told me he goes to work at 2 am.
There were nothing but crackheads and hoes till 5 am.
But here he is: Picking me up at 6:20 am.
He pulled up with one honk.
"Hempstead man?" he said.
Hempstead Man? Is he talking to me?
"You goin' to Hempstead?" he asked, much clearly.
Oh, yes. Hempstead.
Driving along he goes.
Onto his crackheads on hoes.
He told me that he was suppose to clock in at 5 am
Where his boss was waiting for him.
But here he is: Speeding down the turnpike.
He slammed on the gas.
"I'm kinda in a hurry no?" he said.
No? Is he serious?
"I'm late for my clock in." he lit his cigarette.
"I'm trying to fucking scrap up a few people before I go in."
Oh really? It's hard to tell.
"I work the night hours. Nothing but fucking bitches and pricks."
Cleaning up the streets are we?
"Like, what is this shit? 3 am in the fucking morning and you're sloshed out of your fucking mind!"
We get to Hempstead.
5 minutes flat, no less than.
He told me he'll make one more round.
He told me to fuck his boss.
And there he is: Speeding out of the drop-off lane.
He's the Nightrunner.
Fuck the crackheads and hoes.
When will he stop?
No one knows.