Those very same streets I ran up and down. I drove down that night in awe because it didn’t look the same, it didn’t have the same feeling as I remembered. I remembered the blocks being filled with groups of people standing around doing whatever it is they did all day as I walked home from Vernon Johns or St. Benedict the African trying to get home and enjoy the day. This was definitely a feeling that I didn’t know because life on the 9 had its bad days, but I definitely seen a few good ones too. Ones that made me appreciate friends, good times, corner stores like The Green Store on 71st, Paul and Tracy’s or Certified. I was happy and sad, but I lived through it and gained the strength I needed to face the world and it’s demanding ways. At any rate, riding through my old neighborhood and feeling like a foreigner made my mind race with concern that I’ll probably never get those feelings again, I’ll never have that same experience with my old friends, I’ll never see the guys balling in the middle of 69th Place. I’ll never jump from building with my cousin and friend. I immediately get sad, but glad that I lived through a time where social media never interfered with my childhood. I had to just ride through even though I knew I would feel this way, but it’s amazing to take a stroll down memory lane sometimes because the memories still live with in.