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About San Jose

Aight, so it goes down—quick, messy, like a street fight. She’s all business, no chit-chat, and I’m like, “Damn, girl, you cold!” Made me mad again, but also—respect. Hustle’s hustle, y’know? Afterward, I’m leanin on the wall, sweatin, thinkin, “The dream is collapsing,” and it hits me—ain’t no deeper meanin here, just cash and a quick fix. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but felt like I lost a round, ya feel me?

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I stroll by Maple Ave sometimes. It’s so quaint; the trees are beyond lush. There’s this park, Howell Grove, right near the river, Yates Creek. The water is like a sassy mirror. Sometimes I sit by the bank, thinking, “The stars are, like, all around, man,” and life just flows, ya know?

Obituary for Anne Marie (Carter) Howell