All language subtitles for Pinero.2001.720p.WEBRip.x264.AAC-[YTS.MX]

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[man]Yo, man!

[♪ man singing in Spanish]

Hey, what's happening?
What's happening?

We'll just start
from the top.

I guess I started stealing
when I was eight,

milk and bread for
my baby sister and brother.

Other times we'd walk
into the supermarket.

We'd eat the food right off
the aisles, not even pay.
We'd walk right outside.

When you think
of Latin writers,

you probably think
of García Márquez,

Neruda, Cortázar
and magic realism.

Not here. Not this.

There are no floating
butterflies around my head

when I walk down Avenue B.

This is street reality.
This is where we shout it out.

[♪ Joe Torres, "Get Out Of My Way," Spanish]

♪

♪

All right, check it out,
check it out, check it out.

Black woman
with the blond wig on,

can you imagine yourself
on To Tell The Truth

with three blondes on blond?

Free, slave, black, 21.

If I have one life to live,
let me live it as a blonde,

black woman
with the blond wig on.

[laughs]

You wrote that shit?

Well, yeah.

That's some
pretty good shit, man.

If I was you, I would get
with that dude Marvin,

with the writing program, man?
Yeah. Yeah.

I mean, if I had your talent,
I definitely would.

Yeah?

Get you out of here.

At least
I won't have to sleep

with my hand
covering my ass tonight.

No, not tonight.

Man, I gotta get
the hell outta here.

Just keep writing, bro.

Motherfuckers don't fuck
with entertainment.

[Piñero]
Miguel Piñero, 150614.

Yeah, can I say something
before I get started?

I'd just like to thank
the parole board

for letting me express
myself here today,

and I leave it
to your good conscience

to consider my release,
and hopefully soon.

Jesus Christ, I'm trying
to do you a favor.

It's a steal.

No, I ain't saying
you steal it.

I stole it, to sell it
to you at a steal.

Go ahead, check it out.
Go ahead, mira.

It's not gonna bite you.
Go ahead.

A Bulova for 20...
[coughs]

Fuck, if I wasn't sick...

See, I'm Malo the Merchant.

Now, "malo"in Spanish
means "bad."

Not "bad" as in "bad"
but "bad" as in "good,"
and I'm so good it's terrible.

I'm bad. Can you dig it?

Five years for stealing?

Why would you want to steal
when you got it all, Mikey?

You have no idea how many times
I asked myself,

"What are we doing here?
Why did we leave Puerto Rico?"

To become doormen and waiters
and junkies and supers

and dope dealers, pimps,
welfare parasites.

Fact is, I am the cause

for the state's great concern
with drugs nowadays.

When they came to me,
I got it for them.

Now, they say that dope

is destroying the youth
of our nation.

Well, not my nation,
their nation,

'cause for years it had been
destroying our nation,

and no one gave
a good fuck about it.

Speak with your eyes,
look with your mouth,
and you'll be OK.

When are we gonna yell out,
"No more fucking dope, man"?

You are surprised
that I, a dope fiend,

would make such a distinction
between me and my peers?

But, you see,
the time before this

there was the time
before that,

and that's where I live,
in the time before this.

The day we left Puerto Rico,

I remember my grandmother
crying, trying to pull me back.

It was like she knew
something bad was gonna happen.

[snaps fingers]
Can you dig that?

[woman]Who is it?It's me... Mikey.

You alone?

No. I'm with myself.

Just call me Monty Hall,
and let's make a deal.

All right, check it out,
check it out.

It's an expensive watch, cheap.
Cheaper than cheap.

In fact, it's so cheap,
that if I sell it to you
any cheaper,

you'd be stealing it
from me, ¿tu sabes?

The poetry man.
You got some shit
with you, bro.

Al Pacino wore this watch
in Serpico. Yeah, right.

For reals, bro.
I swear to God.

[speaks Spanish]
Lemme see that.

Man, that watch
don't work, man.

It's all right, bro.
You don't need to know
the time all the time.

In fact, you live longer
with a watch that don't work.

Check it out.Bro, you got
some pair of bolas,man.

You know that shit, man?

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Mira,Pablito,
you don't look so good.

You got all the money
for me?

I'm shy about $3.
Here. I'll pay you
next Tuesday, all right?

Man, you something else.

Always doing
the same thing, man.
I ain't doing it next time.

I'll pay you next week,
all right?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, same story.

[Piñero]Doctor,
I spent my whole life

living like there's no sickness,
no dying, no nothing.

So, now the clock is ticking.

I don't know, all of a sudden
I feel kind of corny, you know?

It's your liver saying,
"Enough."

I'm really sorry.

So, what, six months?

Ah... I don't know.

Way you live, who knows?

You know, my best friend Tito,
he died two days ago.

Got crushed by an icebox.

He never saw it coming,
you know?

I guess I'm not
that bad off, you know?

$73. Let's pick it up here.
$73.

Hello, Professor!
I got Cabernet 1967,

duck mousse a la port,
garlic crisps,

the National Book Review
and the latest copy
of Screw,what else?

Cuchifrito.Let's celebrate.What are we celebrating?

Life, baby. Life.

Shit, I don't care
what the doctors say, man.

Worst-case scenario,
not a bad life.

Don Johnson.
That's a pretty motherfucker.

Check this out.

Remember that night
at Burrough's Bunker?

I asked him where
the bathroom was. He said,

"It's right over there.
Come on, I'll pee with you."

[laughter]

Rich fucker.

Me, 40 years old,
maybe $40 in the bank.

Homeless, no kids.

Thank God for that.

Me...

20 years teaching
Shakespeare at Rutgers.

A lifer.

You think that Shakespeare
ever met a Puerto Rican?

Well, if he did,
I could have been
in one of his plays.

Check this out.

Friends, puertorriqueños,
countrymen,

lend me your ears
and hand me a beer.

I come to bury Mikey,
not to praise him.

The evil that men do
lives after them.

The good is oft interred
with their bones.

So let it be with Mikey.

Check that out.

[inhales]

[coughing]

Damn.

[sniffs]

You know, lately I forget
every wonderful thing
I want to remember.

Things like...

things that happen
when you're...

when you're in a cab
or at the doctor

or just walking and watching,

'cause that's all
you can afford emotionally.

and you say,
"You know, I'm gonna...

I'm gonna remember this
and place it where it fits."

But I don't know about you,
but... I always forget them,
you know?

Yeah.

Man, look at us.

Look at Tito.

Nuyorican poets.

You know, I will never
forget that night.

Of course not,

because I told you
what happened.

I'm your memory.

I got a full house
and a baby waiting to be born.

You told him
how important this was?

Of course I did,

but that doesn't jive
with him.

Put my neck
on the chopping block
to make this happen.

Joe, would you just
calm yourself down?
He's gonna be here.

He's probably
just nervous, you know?

He's standing somewhere
watching us right now.

Hello.
My name is Joe Papp.

Good evening, ladies.
May we have your attention?

We're your tour guide
with the city.
Check this out.

5, 6, 7, 8. Huh.

I met Miguel Piñero
shortly after his release
from Sing Sing...

Take off your shit, ho.What are you doing?

...where, for the past year,
he found the courage

to write and develop
a play called Short Eyes

about the very place
where he was living.

Let go, let go, let go.

Go, go, go.

All dramatists of real value

must sooner or later confront

what for themselves
is truly dangerous.

Taxi.

Now we are proud
to present to you Short Eyes.

Go.

You do that very well.

You know,
this is the best thing
that could happen to us.

I think so. Really.

I mean, we are less now.
We'll eat more.

Hey.

We'll go to dancing,

we will swim
in the Hudson River,

we will read poetry,

we will go to the movies...

[no audio]

[police officer] Name?

Miguel Piñero.

What do you do
for a living?

I'm a writer, poet,
reporter.

Really?

And a thief, a junkie

and whatever else
one has to be sometimes.

You know how it is.

You?

Tito. Tito Goya.

And you?

Hey, that's Goya.

For the beans,
not the painter.

If it's Goya,
it's gotta be good, ¿tu sabes?

Charlie!

You owe me three packs, man.

[guard]Off the fuckin' noise.

Now, if I have to call your name
more than once, pray,

'cause your soul
may belong to God,

but your ass is mine.

Yeah, and your brain
may belong to the state,

but your sanity
belongs to me.

[no audio]

[horn honks]

Fuck.

Profe?

Professor, you around?

Hey, mira,brother man.

You want to buy
a brand-new TV?
I just liberated it.

$35, all right?
I got medical bills,
I gotta buy me a new liver.

Tutu, you want to buy a TV?
It's brand-new.

Shit. That thing
has a broken antenna.

Ah, nah, look, Tutu,
it ain't broken.

It's just a short one
so it don't get in the way
and shit like that. You dig?

We need one
for the bathroom anyway.Hey, man, that's cool.

That way you don't miss out
on the soap opera when
you're taking a shit.

That's funny, man.

Why don't you talk that
foul fucking language
somewhere else?

Yeah, like, be cool,
motherfucker.

[softly]"The trouble
with our love is here.

Our love is around..."
It's around...

Maybe the next time
you break in,

I should call the police.

Maybe.

Hi. I'm Sugar.

I'm Mikey's woman.

I'm out here hustling for Mikey,
trying to make a living,

doing the best that I can
for my man.

Daddy hit me again.

Ma, can you hear me?

It's me, your baby.

He was drunk.
I know, I know...

He ain't my real dad.

Every time you go to sleep,

he comes into my room,

and he sits on my bed,

and he starts touching my leg.

He scares me
when he's like that.

I know, I know.
The food. The landlord.

Where are you?

You said you'd be around
if I needed you.

And I need you, Ma.

Ma, they call me Tricky now,

'cause I've turned
more tricks in one night

than you turned in a lifetime.

Ma, please help me.

I'm tired of turning tricks.

I want a kick.

I want a fix.

I want you to need me.

I want you to need.

I want you to need me.

Cirrhosis.

Sounds like a fucking flower,
doesn't it?

I gotta draw up a will.

So I figured, you know,
if we were married,

you'd be the sole beneficiary
of my estate.

State of what?

State of mind?

You want to reward me
by making me a widow?

Believe it or not,
there are some benefits

that come to you
by being married to me
that I want you to have.

You know what I mean?

You think I like what I do?

It's acting.

You always said
I couldn't act.Impossible.

You're impossible.

What am I gonna do
with you, huh?

What are you talking about?

You know what I'm talking about.

What if something
happens to you?

I get scared, too, Mikey.

Look... I understand
you don't want to marry me.

I mean, I wouldn't, either.

But...

"April 6, 1988.

You are hereby required to..."
Blah blah blah-de-blah.

Shit.

Battery's dead, man.What?

You left the fucking radio on
all night. Shit.

Dead battery?
What is this, an omen?

Mikey, Mikey,
this ain't no omen.
This is my van, man.

Look, if you gonna room
with me, Mikey,

you gotta respect
my space, man.

Shit.

This motherfucker
ain't subsidized.

Probably won't even
pass inspection now,
the way we going.

Neither will we.

How are you gonna have
Robert De Niro,

Ralph Macchio and Burt Young
playing Puerto Ricans
in a new play?

I don't wanna see that...

Out. I don't want you
around here.

Another Latino boom
is on the way, this time
with Italians playing us, bro.

Out. Get over here.

Come here.

This is a public theater,
right?Yes, it is.

I thought this was
the public theater.

I'm part of the public, you see.
I don't need this shit, bro.

Don't be treating me
like that, man.
I see how it is.

If you gotta see Rei,
you call him, but you do not
come by, you understand?

You let me down
for the last time.

Oh, so, what...
now you lost faith in me?Course not. I lost money.

Look, Joe, I'm sorry,
but I wrote this shit.

If you didn't like it,
that's not my problem.

You wrote the shit?

No, you wrote shit.
Nothing. Not a word.

You've made me look bad.

I'm your last friend.

You remember? You said that.

Well, it be's that way
sometimes, bro.

Fuck you. Fuck you, man.

Fuck you. Fuck you, man.
Fuck you.

So what? Now you got Rei
up in there,

fulfilling your quota
for "whore of the month"
Latino life, huh?

I don't owe you shit.
I work for my commission,
motherfucker.

Yeah.

What happened to you, Miguel?

Do you know?

Do you know?

Mikey. What's going on here?

I love this man.

I know that.

It's OK, bro.
Don't worry about it. Shit.

Nobody ever plays fair

when it comes to the heart
or the pocketbook.

I've been there.

No...Yes, yes, yes, yes.

[Rei]I love you, Mikey,

but I got to agree
with Papp, you know?

De Niro's
a box-office draw.

I told Papp that I wanted you
to play my father,

but... you know how it is.

My man Bobby, he has clout.

He fell in love with the part.

Bobby? Oh, yeah. Bobby.

You know I love you, Rei,
and all that shit, man,

but sometimes you come across
like bad medicine.

Like a fucking laxative.
You know what I mean?

Hold me up.
Come on, hold me up. Shit.

You are very talented, Rei.
Of course, with my talent...

What the fuck's this story
about... whale hunting
offshore Korea?

How you come up
with this foreign nonsense?

You never seen
a fucking whale in your life,
and you ain't no Korean.

You didn't have to do that.You wanted me
to teach you, right?

Yeah, but not like this.

I'm not one of your little boys
you just throw in the water,
make me learn how to swim.

Well, it be's that way
sometimes, bro.

You trying to fuck with me?
Fuck you, man.

So, what, now you gonna
hit me with the chair?

You better hit me hard,
because if you lay me out
and I get back up,

I'm gonna throw your ass
off this fucking roof.
Write about that.

You know, write about
what you know, all right?
Write about that.

Write about your mother,
your father.

You got 20 stories floating
around inside your stomach.
Spit 'em out.

And how am I just supposed
to spit 'em out, right?

Well, sweetie, I'm not
gonna stick my finger
down your throat

so you can puke.

And by the way...

Go buy yourself
a Smith Corona Electric,

'cause I can't read
your writing.

Take it.

Now sit down.
Smoke a joint.

So I gave you my ass.

What else you want, papi?

Hmm? You want to grade
my fucking work?

OK.

You're God.

But...

Oh, man, what's going on?

Because one day,
you're happy, you know,
you're proud of me.

Now you're, uh...

You know, you're in a rage

'cause I'm doing good.

Excuse me.I'm not me.

Excuse me.

Deadlines, man. Come on.

Sentence passed,
if you catch my drift.

Oh, you look familiar.
Which one are you today?

Actually, that's why I came.

Come on, I got
a residual check from Kojak.

They're running the show
in Africa.

I'm sorry, all right?
It was just a case
of nerves, Profe. Here.

Come on. It's not like
I'm gonna be around forever.

You fucking button-pushing,
manipulating ingrate

whose latest heartfelt con
is your death,

because, after all, you're
the only fucking person
dying in this world,

because death was designed
just for you, right?

No, Daddy!
I don't want to die, Daddy!

Shit. I should take
that bouncing check

and welcome you
back into my home,
so that in the eventuality

that I accidentally
shove a finger up your ass,

you might squeeze
my mother's wedding band,

which I am wearing,
out of it, right?

Look, bandito,
this shit has to stop.

Anybody can be a poet
the way you live.

Fuck it!
I could write like you
if I didn't have to worry

about working and sleeping
or paying the rent.

I know, I know, Profe.
I know, and I'm sorry.

I do abuse you of your kindness
and humanity and shit.

That's the word, Miguel.Put that shit away.
Put that shit away.

I can't help it.
You a nice guy.

Look, I want to read
to you how I...Tito.

Let me read to you
how I figured out
that last act for

The Sun Always Shines
for the Cool. I heard it.

The whole building heard.
The fucking neighborhood
heard it.

All right, then, I'll leave.
You know? I'll just leave.

Leave? Where the fuck
are you gonna go
at 4:00 in the morning

where you won't get arrested

for carrying around
a stolen-from-me
Smith Corona?

I got an idea.

Now, I will rent this place

not for your benefit
but for mine,

so I can sleep,
so I can keep my job,

so I can preserve my sanity
and write like you.

Welcome to our house,
the Nuyorican Poets Cafe.

[Piñero speaks Spanish]

What do you think, baby?
What do you think?

[Algarin]Good evening,
ladies and gentlemen.

Miguel Algarin...

...and Tito Goya...

...would like
to welcome back...Mikey Piñero!

[both]Back from the filming
of another movie in Hollywood.

iVaya!

[crowd cheering]

[woman]Bravo! Bravo!

[♪ singing in Spanish]

Appreciate all the nice things
my friends can still say
about me, you dig?

But no speeches
from me tonight.

I wrote this poem
on the plane.

It goes, uh...

[♪ jazz]

Dreamt I was a poet

and writin'
silver sailin' songs,

words strong and powerful

crashin' through walls
of steel and concrete

erected in minds weak
and those asleep,

replacin' a hobby
of paper candy-wrappin'
collectin'

potent to pregnate
sterile young thoughts.

I dreamt I was this poeta,

words glitterin'
bright and bold,

strikin' a new rush for gold

in las bodegas,
where our poets' words
and songs are sung.

But sunlight stealin'
through Venetian blinds,

eyes hatin', workin' of time

clock, sweatin' and swearin'
and slavin' for the final dime,

runnin' a maze, a token ride,

perspiration
insultin' poets' pride.

Words stoppin' on red,
goin' on green,

poets' dreams endin'
in a factoría

as one in a million, unseen,

buyin' bodega sold dreams.

[applause] [woman]Bravo!

Bravo!

[woman #2]Mikey, all right!

Hey. Remember me?

Maybe.

Excuse me.
Gee, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

What the fuck you give me,
elephant tranquilizer?

What day is it?

And do you have any more?

[laughs]

Shit.

Relax, papi.

We've been in this bed
for hours.

What's the matter, huh?

Is it too hot to get it up?

'Cause I can dig
a little tongue,

but too much of it
makes me horny.

You can't be out here
giving up all this tongue

if you can't give up
anything else.

So... relax.

Shit. If I relax any more,
I'm gonna faint.

So, what,
you rehearse that speech?

I did. But you wrote it.

Oh, yeah.

[♪ Cuban salsa]

Yeah.

The Sun Always Shines
For the Cool.

Great play.

That's right.

So you want to be
an actress, huh?

Yeah. I've read everything
you've written... twice.

I'm flattered.

So am I.

Twice, huh?

Yeah.

I guess it's true
what they say about jail.

What's with you?
Little boys?

Shit, I'd like to watch.

Hey, wha-what's
the matter? Huh?

[turns music off]

Oh, man,
I was just kidding...

Look, why the fuck
you come here for?

Between insulting me
and getting yourself
worked up to be near me,

you lost me.

I thought that...

Oh, forget it.
Just get out of here.Come on, Mikey...

Just get the fuck
out of here.I'm sorry, OK?

Get out of here!I'm just nervous.

I'm sorry, Mikey.

I didn't mean it.

You know how long
I've been waiting for this?

You like me so much
it makes me nervous.

Since the first time
I saw you in the projects,

and the rest
of how all that shit goes...

I knew you, Mikey.

You had no father.
I had too much of one.

I said to myself...

"Between me and him...
we'll make one happy child."

[mumbles]

Everyone's a fucking poet
tonight, huh?

Maybe.

And I'll suck your cock
like a fucking poem,

whatever that makes me.

Whatever you want, Mikey,
I'll do it.

I'm your whore.

He comes into my room

and he sits on my bed.

He scares me
when he's like that,

his hands touching me...

...getting all hard
and fast and hot,

his spit falling
all over me.

Mikey?

Get out of here!You get out.

Get the fuck out of here!

The last time you had a job,
you were hired at 9:00
in the morning.

By 11 you were fired.

That was two years ago.

So, what, are you
a detective now?

Worse. I'm your mother.

You just got out of jail,
now you're back inside.

Mikey...

didn't you learn anything good
the first time?

You mean, besides acquiring
my first drug habit?

Don't talk to me like that.

It's just that...

[sighs]

I am tired of visiting my son
behind bars.

It's the only time
we... we get to talk.

I mean, what happened
to that son I used to have?

The little boy
who would bring me flowers?

Who would write poems for me?

I think, in your mind,

our life had been like...
like Leave It to Beaver,

but in my mind,
it was... it was different.

I'm sorry.

You know, I'm sorry
for my antisocial behavior.

It's not a choice.

What do you want me to do?

Make me proud before I go.

What are you,
in a hurry today?

No.

You're talking with your eyes.

OK.

OK, mami.

I'll make you proud.

I'll make you proud
of me, you'll see.

You'll see.

I'll make you proud of me.

I... I got this picture
of Jane Fonda,

so I would really stretch out,

doing up my wood.

No, no, no, man.
Say it natural.

Not like a minister.

Say it like you,
like-like here,
like... like Edgar.

Don't try to sound
all like Corinthian
Ricardo Montalban Cordoba dude.

You know? Give me you,
the life, Harlem.

Talk like you talk, you know?

Like, be all the nigger
that you are.

Did you say "nigger"?

Nigger?

Wesson Oil
never had it so good.

You see, I got this picture
of Jane Fonda.

She got this
black silk satin bikini.

Yeah, you dig?

So I strips naked,
right, and I...

and I starts to roll and roll.

I mean, I am whipping
my johnson ronson
to the bone, boy.

Ooh, yeah.

Soon... ohh,

everybody on the tier
knew that I was working out.

[laughs]

'Cause soon, everybody's voice
was with me.

I... I starts...
I starts callin' out her name,

real soft, you know?

Janey.

Ooh. Ahh.

Janey, baby...

Oh, get it, Janey, oh,
just a little louder, babe.

Ooh, faster.

I scream, "Ow!"
My knees buckle. Uhh...

Oh, Janey, baby.

Get it, baby.

Get it. Get it, get it,
get it, get it.

Get it.
Oh, Janey! Uh...

Ahh. [chuckles]

Now, that's Black Power.

[laughter and applause]

That's it!
That's how we do it.

Now you an actor.
You ain't Bowser anymore,
44756 armed robbery, man.

No, man. Not while you acting.

You Ice, leading man
in Short Eyes!

[♪ "Diente De Oro,"
Orlando Puntillarios Ríos]

Well, when you're in prison,

you're nowhere being nobody,
you're a number.

You know? So when I started
writing my poetry and acting,

I felt like somebody
in a land of nothing.

I never felt so alive,
I never had so much energy.

I'd go back to my cell,
I'd create something.

I spoke to this
movie director this afternoon

who's very much interested
in making a film
of Short Eyes.

I mean, there's Lumet,
there's-there's Pacino,
and...

I mean, basically everybody
in this town, they love you,

and I can get you
the best possible deal.

Uh, Rob?Yes?

Rob, is it?Yeah.

So, you want to be my pimp?

Is that it?
You want to pimp me out?

Yes. Yes, very much so.

I would...
I would love that.

[woman]Well,
you must be feeling

really good tonight,Mr. Piñero.

Your play Short Eyes
created a lot of controversy,
a lot of opposition,

and still you won
six nominations.

It's the first time
a Puerto Rican playwright
cleans up at the Tonys.

Cleans up? At the Tonys, yes,

but we have been cleaning up
and down in this town

since the Marine Tigerdocked.

You know, in your offices,
your restaurants,
the fine hotels.

Later on, we were cleaned up
in Korea, then Vietnam.

But when it came
to the writing,

we'd go chisel the motherfucker
straight out of beer cans,

from the tar and the concrete
of the city and the roofs
of the city.

You know, the metaphors
would flow from there.

But check it out.
No windows tonight.

This is our time.

It's not like we go
into the homes of the rich

and we walk out
with a silver ashtray.

No, we go in and we walk out
with something better...
their attention.

We take them to a world
they used to fear,

and we tell them,
"Hey, it's cool."

"We used to
fear you, too, man."

[laughs]

This is our time.

Yeah.

Hey, check this out.

I know this is gonna be

kind of sappy
and out of character,

but with you I can be sappy
and out of character.

Yeah, right.
You must think of me

like some kind of
senile grandmother
or something.

But you gotta promise me
one thing, Profe.

That by tomorrow night,

you'll come back to me

with a poem
that lays out, in detail,

what's to be done
in case you or I die.

Excuse me?

Nothing's wrong.

You know,
it's just a pact here,
you know, a promise,

in case we get caught
with our pants down.

Just humor me.

You want me to write a poem

about the details
of our funerals?

Yeah.

Yeah.

So you write what you want,
I'll write what I want,

you know, like a testament,

and, uh, whoever goes first...

God forbid it's you or me...

got to do what the poem says.

You're not planning
anything funny?

Algarin...
[speaks Spanish]

Now that we got the city
by the balls, watch out.

[♪ "Calle Luna, Calle Sol," Willie Colón and Hector Lavoe]

♪ Mete la mano en el bolsillo

♪ Saca y abre tu cuchillo
y ten cuidado

♪ Oye, ten cuidado

♪ Póngame oído, en este barrio muchos guapos han matado

♪ Y que mucho han matado

♪ Calle Luna, Calle Sol

¿Adónde?

♪ Calle Luna, Calle Sol

I'm here. [man]Mikey.

You needed 5,000,
I got you 5,000.

Ain't nobody
gonna shut you down.

Look, it's only money.

As legit as Hollywood money
can be, but...

You pay me back, cool.
If you can't pay me back,
no problem, OK?

I look at it this way.
I come in tomorrow,
if I'm broke,

you gimme a six-pack
and we call it even, OK?

He was dead.

He never lived.

Died. Died.

He died seekin' the Cause,

because he said
he never saw the Cause,

but he heard the Cause,

heard the cryin'
of hungry ghetto children,

heard the warnin' from Malcolm,

heard the tractors
pave new routes to new prisons.

He died seekin' the Cause,
seekin' aCause.

He was already dead.

He never really lived.

Uptown, downtown, crosstown,

his body was found
all over town

seekin' the Cause,

thinkin' the Cause
was 75 dollars and gator shoes,

thinkin' the Cause
was selling the white lady
to black children,

thinkin' the Cause
was to be found
in Gypsy Rose or JB

or singin doo-wops in the park
after some chiba chiba.

♪ Doe

♪ Doe-doe-doe

♪ Duh-duh-dum

♪ Doe-doe-doe-doe,
doe-doe-doe-doe... ♪

He died.

He died seekin' the Cause,

and the Cause was dyin'
seeking him

and the Cause was dyin'
seeking him

and the Cause was dyin'
seeking him.

He wanted a color TV.

He wanted a silk on silk suit.

He wanted the Cause
to come up like the Mets

and take the World Series.

He wanted, he wanted,
he wanted, he wanted.

He wanted to want more wants,

but he never gave,
he never gave, he never gave.

He never gave his love
to his children,

he never gave his heart
to his people

and never did he ever
give his soul to his people.

He never gave his soul
to his people

because he was busy
seekin' a Cause,

busy,

busy perfectin' his voice

to harmonize the national anthem
with Spiro T. Agnew,

busy perfectin' his jive talk

so that his flunkiness
wouldn't show,

busy perfectin'
his viva la policíaspeech.

Downtown, uptown,
midtown, crosstown.

His body was found
all over town,

found in the Potter Fields
of an OD,

found in the Bowery
with the DDTs.

His legs were left in Vietnam,

his arms were found
in Sing Sing,

his scalp was on Nixon's belt,

his blood painted
the streets of the ghetto.

His eyes were still lookin'
for Jesus to come down
on some cloud

and make everything OK.

When Jesus died in Attica,

his brains plastered
all around the frames
of the Pentagon,

his voice still yellin'
"Stars & Stripes forever,"

riddled with the police bullets
his taxes bought,

he died seekin' the Cause,

died seekin' aCause.

He died yesterday.

He's dyin' today.
He's dead tomorrow.

He died seekin' a Cause,

and the Cause was
in front of him

and the Cause was in his speech

and the Cause was in his skin

and the Cause was in his blood,

but he died,

he died seekin' the Cause,
seekin' aCause.

He died deaf, dumb and blind.

He died and never found
his Cause, because, you see,

he never, never knew
that he was the Cause.

♪ Ooh-woo-oo-ooh

[♪ "Agueybana Zemi,"
Jerry Gonzalez
and Frankie Rodriguez]

♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Así, que es el tu nombre ♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Ya todo el mundo
está cantando ♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Todo el mundo está diciendo

♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ En el barrio de Guamaní ♪ Agueybana Zemi

♪ Allí dió tu bien y nombre

♪ Agueybana Zemi...

What's happening, Jake?

What's the matter
with you, man?

Just a little oppression
on the right side
of the rib cage.

It's called
an exploding liver.

Kind of like
a standing ovation

that organs give
to graduating chemicals.

What you want, man?

A liver. I need a liver.

A lover?A liver. I need
a fucking liver, bro.

Look, man, I can get you
crack, smack, weed,

but no liver, bro.

You fucking with me or what?I'm sick. I need a liver.

I gotta find someone
who's got a liver
compatible with mine, see.

You mean that fits?

Look, bro, I need cash
or a liver or something
for real, brother.

I heard of some dude who got
this kidney for Jackie,

the singer uptown,

used to be with the O'Jays.

But a liver?

Look, just don't talk
that liver shit

around this chick.

[knock on glass]

I sold you
as someone creative.

Remember, 10% for me,
whatever you write.

This the chick?That's the one.

I'd like to introduce you all

to a personality
we have in the house
tonight with us.

Noel Pinero.

Where are you, baby?

iAy!There you go.
Look at that famous,
fabulous face.

Showtime, baby. [♪ electronic music]

♪ I am the first girl
on the moon

♪ Look at me float

♪ I am a fire girl

♪ Give it to me, baby

♪ Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh

♪ Look at me now

I do fashion, you know.

With your connections
and my looks, God knows.

Jake says you're famous.

What are you famous for, honey?

Tell Cuqui.

Tell Cuqui.

Wait a minute, you...

you want me
to write you a play?

Oh, yes.
You write today, papa?

I think
I'd like something...

fun,

with humanity...

and sexy.Yeah.

I like that. I like that.

Writing is, like,
half inspiration,

half inhalation.What?

Now, for a writer
of, like, my stature

to collaborate with an actress
of your caliber,

there has to be a bond,
¿tu sabes?

What blood type are you?

Blood type?

Are you a vampire, papi?

Yeah.

That's money.
You throwing away money, baby.

I want some, too.

Look. I think
you better go, Noel.

Just go, before something...

Before? Before-Before what?
Before what?

You asked me up here.

Shit, you ain't even got
my name right, and you
at the end of the chapter.

You know what I should do?
You know what I should do?

Yeah, go on.

Hit me.

Hit me.

Go for it, baby.
I know that's what you want.

'Cause you have been
this and that,

but let's face
the facts, honey.

You are a loser.

And the only thing that
you're leaving with here tonight

is the satisfaction

of having physically beat
a woman.

Listen to me, woman.
You know what I'm gonna do?

You know what you can do
for me? Do you? Do you?

Do you know?

I'm gonna take your liver.

Yeah. That's right.

I'm gonna come to you at night
when you're sleeping.

I'm gonna
cut your fucking liver out.

That's what
I'm gonna write about.

That's what
I'm gonna write about.

I'm gonna take
your fucking liver, yeah.

Get the fuck out of here.
Hear me?

Get out before I call
the police, you fucking freak.

They'll get here so fast
you won't even make it
to the lobby, eh?

Let's see who's the man.

Come on, you son of a bitch.
I'll slice you, motherfucker.

[laughs]

Beautiful.

OK, fine, I burned
every bridge,

and I can't fucking
walk my way back

to the Writer's Guild
pension and fuckfair,

but that don't mean
I gotta go like
I was never around.

It's not gonna happen,
Mikey.

I live, you live.

I mean, I don't even know
who owns what, right?

I mean...

I try to call my agent,
he's, like, he fucking
died before me.

I thought you were
leaving it all to Sugar.

Yeah, or the IRS.
Motherfuckers.

They come to get you
between the fucking flames

with an asbestos suit
and a hose.

This country has never made me
so blue that I want to be Red.

So don't call me a Puerto Rican.
I'm an American.

Oh, God, no, what is it, man?
What is that? What is this?

Excuse me?

The fight.

I don't think you developed
any real conflict or anything,
you know?

I'm sorry. Uh...

Who the fuck are you?

I just came to the workshop
because I like your work.

I'm your fan, man.
That's who the fuck I am.

My fan?

And I want to be a writer.
And I'm right.

That's right. If you could
only give yourself a second
to maybe think you're wrong,

and even if you don't,
I'm still right.

My name is Reinaldo Povod.

Kind of odd,
sounds like... "God."

[♪ "Bop Gun,"
George Clinton]

That's why I gave up
the mugging business, right?

All these dumb movies
about men and women taking
the law into their own hands.

I mean, it gets to be,
you pull a knife on someone,

everyone, you know, they
been taking up karate this
and kung-fu that lessons.

Dude starts to think he's, like,
Bruce Lee's second cousin,

you gotta stab him
in self-defense, right?

Povod. What kind of
Puerto Rican name is that?

Russian. My grandmother.

♪ Spoiling the fun

What do you think
of the girl?

She turning you on?

Not my type.

♪ Protect yourself

♪ Movin' right around

♪ Hey, babe

She's my mother.

No joke, man.

♪ We got to get over the hump

♪ Right now

Nice tits, huh?

Beautiful tits.

♪ Turn me loose,
make me shoot... ♪

[♪ jazz fusion]

[Tito]Give me
your fucking money!

So I busted
the key in the door,

and I stepped into
Blackie's dog shit,

and I wiped it off
with Junior's baby diaper,

and that was full
of baby shit.

So while relaxing,

I told Gloria of all the shit
I had been through,

and she said that
I was full of shit.

I said I wasn't bullshitting.

She said I wasn't shit.

I said that I don't want
to hear no shit.

She said I still wasn't shit.

So I grabbed her
by the fuckin' neck,

and I pulled her ass
across the kitchen table,

and she went flyin' across
the living room table

and over the underpaid,
overpriced furniture

and landed on
the overworked bed.

And I jumped into the air,

and with the scream
of an Apache warrior's
cry of battle,

I kill, kill, kill
all my troubles away.

How was that? Was that good?
That felt real.

That felt real.

Hey, what are you
doing tonight, anyway?

Why don't you come on up?
Maybe you get lucky,
I'll fall in love with you.

Hey, here's your call sheet.

Sure you don't want to come up?

I'm positive.
Good night, Mikey.

And don't forget
your wardrobe.

Miguel.

Man, so good to see you.

But what took you
so fucking long
to come back here?

Well, I... I wanted...
I wanted... to tell you how...

Oh, what's it been,
like 16 years?

You got a nice place here.

I'm glad you've done so well
for yourself.

When...

your mother and I split up...

You mean when
you left my mother

to take care of five kids
all by herself?

Huh?

Yeah.

You know, I had this dream
that, uh...

someday, you and she

would take five
off your daily fights

and offer me
a sign of peace.

Yeah, I had that
wonderful dream
so many times,

it became like
a fucking rerun.

Miguel...

It isn't easy...

Drop it already,
all right?

Just stop the
concerned father role.
It doesn't fit you well.

It's making me
want to throw up
all over this place.

Just cut it loose, will you?

I like being on my own.

[door opens and closes]

Yeah.

Hey, Dad, thanks
for coming by, OK?

I love you, Dad.

Gimme a kiss, papi.

I miss you.

Hey, don't be a stranger, man.

I'll see you again.

[Piñero] What can I get you?
Some questions answered.

Like what?

Like, this man
says he's your father.
Is that true?

Well, he's the man
that fucked my mother and
created a child he named.

Forget it.

Yeah, if that's being a father, I guess he's my father,

and it means
nothing to me at all.

[speaking Spanish]

We're here, so let's
make the best of it, OK?

Don't worry about it.
We'll find a better place.

It's gonna be...
It's gonna be fun,
I promise you.

[♪ "Irresistible,"
Pedro Flores]

iOye!

Musica.

[hums along with song]

♪ Desde el cielo
he recibido la noticia

♪ De que un ángel
se ha escapado sin querer

♪ Está andando
perdido por la tierra

♪ Lo que tiene
es que se viste de mujer

♪ Yo sospecho una criatura
que yo he visto

♪ Porque cada vez
que yo la puedo ver ♪

What's happening, John?

What?

It's about your mother, man.

Your sister called.

Sorry, man.

[mother]This poem was written
by a great Puerto Rican.

"iSomos Indias!

"Indias del indio bohío.

"De pomarrosal sombrío.

De las orillas del río
de la selva tropical."

Ha-ha-ha.

That's good, huh? You see?

We don't have to be
waiters or doormen.

And, Miguelito,
you are the oldest,

and you should know that
just because we are here

doesn't mean we have to forget
what we left there.

[♪ "Puerto Rico,"
Eddie Palmieri
and Ismael Quintana]

[Tito]I have never seen
a palm tree in my life.

[Piñero]I told you guys
we'd get back home one day.

♪ Isla tierna y pura
y de gran hermosura

[all]Puerto Rico!

♪ ...y pueblos hechiceros

♪ Puerto Rico

[Piñero] And the island
is left unattended

because the middle-class bureaucratic Cuban has arrived,

spitting blue-eyed justice

at brown-skinned boy
in military khaki.

Compromise to survive.

His hairline-length,
moustache-trimmed face,

looking grim
like a soldier
on furlough,

further cannot exhibit contempt for what is not cacique-born.

Man, I've been
waiting for this day
all my life.

This poem

will receive a burning,
stomach-turning scorn.

Nullified...

classified...

racists

from this Pan-Am,

Eastern, First National,
Chase Manhattan Puerto Rico.

[laughter]

It's kinda quiet in here.

Reminds me
of the time I auditioned for
the parole board at Sing Sing.

[feedback]

Well, excuse me, but...

I'm not sure
that you know about

our internal problems here.

I mean, what is it that
you feel for Puerto Rico

besides an obvious affection

and some kind
of nostalgic notion
of what we really are

besides rum and music
and dominoes on the sidewalk

and God knows what else

you need to feed this anger?

You don't know?

Listen...

even if well-intentioned,

it is still out of place

when it comes from a character
that corrupts the language

when you are calling yourselves
"Nuyoricans,"

as if... as if
it was a race.

Well, check this out.
I was born here in the town
of Gurabo in 1948.

Lived on this island
till the age of seven.

My family decided to move
to New York, not a trip
that I planned or wanted.

I am Puerto Rican.

Now, I subnamed myself

with a reality-given,
motherfucking slang
of a title,

in this case, Nuyorican,

and wherever I go,
I am Puerto Rican

and Rican and Nuyorican
24 hours a day.

Now, if you are embarrassed
or afraid of what you are,

don't blame me,
it's not my fault.

Blame that fucking
Oxford shirt you're wearing

from whatever prison you live in
that forces you to wear it,

to fake something
that you are not,

to be something
that you are not.

See, 'cause even if I am
half-and-half,

any of those halves
is more whole than all of you,

'cause I know what I am,

and I know when it hurts,
and I'm still the same man,

the same Puerto Rican,
24 hours a day.

But thank you. Thank you
for your comments.

Does anyone else
have any comments, questions,
literary criticism?

Don't be afraid. Speak up.
This is a free country, I think.

[scattered applause]

Hey, man, you came here
looking for a piece of ass,

and you found
your own daughter
selling her pussy.

Maybe you should, you know,
keep it in the family.

An invited trick and a ho
staring at each other,

and they turn out
to be family.

Daddy's gonna pay
to fuck his little girl.

Man... I must have woke up

on the wrong side of the bed
this morning,

'cause nothing's
gone right at all.

Everybody gone.

All the smokes smoked,
the liquor gone.

Nothing left
but some warm beer.

That's what I got
to leave behind in my will.
My great estate.

Can you hear me?

And you know what?

I guess today
just ain't my day.

Guess not.

Police! Freeze! Nobody move.

Fuck you, fuckin' faggot.

Come on,
let's go. She doesn't
have to come with us.

'Course she does, man.
Just get in the fucking car.

[woman babbles frantically]

No, no, no.

No. No.

Tito, man, what the fuck
are you doing?

Stay the fuck away.
Don't fuck with me, Mikey.
Stay the fuck away.

This is fucked.
This is fucked.

So, thanks for the ride,
you know?

It's been fun.

Mikey...

Nah, nah.

Save it for your wedding.

Mikey?

[coughs]

What you writing now?

Final chapter of my life.

Seems I'm writing it
myself, alone.

"Even if...

"nothing was happening
in my world,

life was there."

"Perhaps poorly represented,

but it was there."

Do me one favor.

Don't take me
to the hospital, please.

No, brother man, no.

Doctor's in the house.

Stand up.

Let's get you
settled inside, OK?

There you go.
Go ahead and lie back.
Put your feet up.

Oh, yeah.All right.

It's nice in here,
isn't it?

Yeah, it's pretty good,

except for the bunk beds
and the sink.

It's kinda like
right back where we started.

Yeah.

[chuckling]

[coughs]

OK, doctor's orders.
Got some medicine for you.

That's good.

One more,
just to be safe, huh?

[inhales]

There you go.

In fact, you know what?

I'll take one
for myself, too.

Ha-ha-ha-ha.

Brother can't party alone.

[man]Next on line,
please.

Yeah, what a night, huh?
Two for Miguel Piñero.

Who?

Miguel Piñero. Two, free.

Pinero?

Can I see some ID,
please?

Identification?

Uh, yeah, sure,
but you know what?

I think this counter's
a little too high
for my dick to reach.

You might have to look down,
you fucking faggot.

Security.

Security, please.

Unruly.

What's happening, John?

Thank you very much.
Enjoy the show.

Fuck you very much.

Next, please.

I'm talking about
the deal of the century.

Deal of the century.

Hundred dollars
for the pair.

Big, big opening night tonight,
ladies and gentlemen.

Cuba & His Teddy Bear.

I swear, it's
Cuba & His Teddy Bear.

How about you, brother?

[man]No, thanks.

You got your tickets?
All right, be cool, be cool.

Good evening.

My name is Joseph Papp.

Our playwright tonight
belongs to a tradition,

a tradition of artists

whose devious
and renegade lives

paradoxically result...

in the most painstaking
devotion to the truth

and to the rigor
of their craft.

Cuba & His Teddy Bear?

No, this is
getting better.

You never know, man.
One day, you might
be as good as me.

That day
is today, baby.

If the life of our author
seems elusive and troubling,

one can only applaud
what is so candidly engaged
here by his art,

where nothing is stolen
or borrowed,

and a great deal is revealed.

[Piñero]Hi.

I really want to thank you
for your welcome

and say thank you
to you, Joe, you know?

How you doing this evening?

Look, it's like everything
he said is true, you know,

and, uh...

In this sense,
our playwright
is as blessed

and as straight a writer
as they come.

Please welcome...

...Mr. Miguel Piñero.

[Piñero] Dig it.

Ha-ha. It's
a great opportunity.

Did you see it
when I did it
with Marty?

Hey, where you been?

I been taking in
the scenery, you know.

Look, look, please,
please, don't make a scene.
This is his night.

Come on, it's his night.

[Papp laughs]

[man]Mr. Povod?

Yeah, that's my name.

Ask me again,
I'll tell you the same.

Here you go.How you doing, brother?

Good, good. How are you?All right, all right,
all right.

Where to?

Baby, you remember
the first time we came here,
I sang you a song?

Remember that?

I remember
you fell in the river.

Ha. Oh, that reminds me.

I wrote something for you
last night.

You did?

Yeah. First time
I write in months.
You want to hear it?

Do I have a choice?

'Course not. All right,
check this out.

Ahem.

"There are things
that never change,

"and we are not one of them,
I fear.

"The trouble with our love
is here.

"The trouble with our love
is around,

"when you cannot
look me in the eye and lie,

"when you run so far away

"that you forget
where to go back to.

"Now you are what you
never wanted to be.

"Go ahead, blame me.

"There are things
that'll never change.

"Now, we're two strangers
with a past

"and a future

"that ain't gonna last.

And that is the trouble
with our love."

Last night, we saw things
like we never did.

We both went our way

and hid.

You like it?

Are you finished?

Yeah. What do you think?

You want to know what I think?

Do you want to know
what I really think?

I've been hanging in there
all this time for this?

A poem?

What do you see
when you look at me? Hmm?

What do you see?

I'm a real person.

I'm a real person
that loves you.

You know, Miguel...

I really wish
you would have married me,

made me happy.

Had a real life
instead of all this jive shit.

Could've had your baby.

Be just a little normal.

I ain't dead yet, you know?

Where... Where's my van?
Where's my van?

What happened? Where's my van?

Ay, Mikey.

They tow it away.

I'm sorry, Mikey.

I saw it
through the window.

Let me explain it to you.

I don't have the paper
because it's not my car.
It's my friend's.

Does your friend
have the registration?

Well, you see,
it's not that simple, sir.

[officer]Jesus!

Did he OD
or something?

No, no. He was sick.

We gotta
get the coroner.

Mikey, come on.

[Piñero]Doctor says
my body doesn't want
to cooperate, you know?

Doctors are always wrong.

I mean, who knows when
it's really your time to go?

Look at me with this
HIV shit. Fuck 'em.

You go when you're ready.

So you better sit your ass down
and eat some cuchifrito,

'cause this shit is ready.

And if this doesn't
kill you tonight,
nothing will.

Hey, Profe.
You got a clean shirt
I could borrow?

'Course I do.

What? What?

I love you, Profe. You know?
No matter what, I love you.

We're the only ones
left, baby.

Mikey.

Come on. You're making me wet.

OK, OK. It smells good,
you know? It smells good.

[Piñero]Reality wasn't
giving me no play, tu sabes?

When my ashtray

became the cemetery
of all my lost memories...

I wonder who wrote that tune
about bein' back on top in June.

Nigger forgot about
September and December.

Now, that is a month
to remember.

Well, I'm going nowhere.

Got nowhere to go.

Going nowhere fast.

But Sunday morning
in New York City,

for the junkie,
there ain't no pity.

When walkin' down the street
with loaded dice,

you hear the people say,
"Hey, there goes Mikey.

"Mike Piñero.

The junkie Christ."

Buy me another drink, baby.

But Tito...

And they came from
out of nowhere, man.
Boom! Boom! Boom!

Blasting them .38s our way.

I was in the car outside
the cash-your-checks joint,
and he came out shooting...

[woman]He? Who's he?

Anyways, they ran, right?

They ran their
motherfucking asses off.

And those that didn't
just laid down and played dead.

He was badder
than all of them, man.

I mean, like... it was like...

He was Satan in heaven, right?

Fighting God for
a piece of the action, man.

That was Tito Goya.

A long way from Ponce, man.

Fucking kid's in jail
somewhere in fucking Texas.

I thought you said

he was crushed by an icebox
or something.

Uh, I gotta sit down.

[coughs]

Hey.

Julio, you call 911.
I'll take care of him.

He's OK.

[♪ men singing in Spanish]

Well, I never wanted
to be anybody,

but a guy once said to me,
"You could write,

and writing will
get you out of jail."

And it did and it didn't,
'cause I had to keep doing bad
to keep the writing good.

'Cause I sell trouble.

I'd go down, bring up
a sponge, another fish,
another pearl, maybe,

but after you make that dive
one too many times,

your ears get shot,
your eyes go blurry,

then, one day, you
finally come to the surface,
and you say, "You know what?

I like it
better down there."

Relax, Mikey.
I'm right here.

OK.

You know what to do
if I should go.

You remember the poem?

Yeah.

I remember. Don't worry.

I want music and wine

and poets prepared to read,

to testify, OK?

[♪ vocal improvisation]

Relax. You got
a lot of work to do.

[♪ vocal improvisation]

Just once before I die,

I want to climb up
on the tenement sky,

to dream my lungs out
till I cry,

then scatter my ashes
through the Lower East Side...

So let me
sing my song tonight,

let me feel out of sight...

And let all eyes be dry

when they scatter my ashes
through the Lower East Side...

From Houston
to 14th Street,

from Second Avenue
to the mighty "D."

Here, the hustlers and suckers
meet the faggots and freaks.

We'll all get high on the ashes
that have been scattered

through the Lower East Side.

[♪ vocal improvisation]

There's no other place
for me to be.

There's no other place
that I can see.

There's no other town around
that brings you up
or keeps you down.

A thief, a junkie I've been.

Committed every known sin.

Jew and Gentiles,
bums and men of style.

Runaway child,
police shooting wild.

Mothers' futile wails,
pushers making sales.

Dope wheelers
and cocaine dealers
smoking pot.

Streets are hot
and feed off those
who bleed to death.

[♪ vocal improvisation]

All that's true,
all that's true,

all that is true,

but this ain't no lie

when I ask that my ashes
be scattered

through the Lower East Side.

So here I am.
Yeah, look at me...

I stand proud as you can see,

pleased to be from
the Lower East Side...

A street-fighting man,

a problem of this land...

I am the philosopher
of the criminal mind,

a dweller of prison time,

a cancer of
Rockefeller's ghettocide.

This concrete tomb
is my home...

To belong, to survive,
you gotta be strong...

You can't be shy,
lest without request,

someone will
scatter your ashes

through
the Lower East Side.

[Piñero]I don't want
to be buried in Puerto Rico.

I don't want to rest
in some Long Island cemetery.

I want to be near
the stabbing, shooting,
gambling, fighting,

unnatural dying
and new-birth crying.

So, please, when I die,

don't take me far away.

Just keep me nearby.

Just take my ashes

and scatter them throughout
the Lower East Side.

[Piñero] Every player
is a poet, an actor,

a statesman, a priest,

but most of all,
he's a player.

You go out there
on the street,

and you meet
the world of suckers,

the world of greed,
and whatever other names
have been defined

for those that seek something
outside the acceptance
of their society,

and you stand with
your balls exposed
in the jungle of fear,

and you battle

and you fight the hardest
fight of your life

each day out there
in them streets

that demand blood
to nourish its own energies.

Today and all the todays
and tomorrows

that are left
inside your soul, you know?

And when it's over and the streets are soaking up
in the blood,

you smile,

and you know that
you just won another day
with yourself, you know?

[♪ Latin music]

[♪ "Calle Luna, Calle Sol"]

[♪ "Straight, No Chaser"]