One summer when I was in college I had a May December romance with a French girl named Juliet, which meant she was July, and so fly. She wore airbrushed tank tops with fringe edges that had the Puerto Rican flag except it was the French one but they all look the same to me when they are red and white and blue and un-American. We would go the river and google eye each other and it was nice in the summer, but then when it started getting colder, her pale skin freaked me out, plus she had freckles which is a sign of bedevilment according to the three weeks of Bible study my dad gave me when I was 7 years old. So after about 7 months I started to get that 7 month itch, which it turns out was a yeast infection, at least that's what an old dreadlocked black dude at a herbal store/incense shop place on Grace Street told me, and I had to soak my penis in a mayonnaise jar with 8 drops of grapefruit seed extract in it for three weeks. I mean, I had to do it like once a day for a few minutes for 21 days straight, not that I strapped a jar full of water spiked with grapefruit seed extract onto my groin for three weeks. That would be weird. Anyways, it was fun to watch my penis inside the jar, and eventually the itch went away, and I never saw Juliet again except one time I was riding my bike down Broad Street headed towards downtown the wrong way on the sidewalk, and I saw her at a bus stop half a block away stepping onto a bus, and she looked pregnant. I did that standing coast thing on my bike, which was an old school 10-speed because I'm an old school type, and she plopped down in a seat as the bus was passing and looked out the window and we made eye contact and there was sad recognition in her eyes, and I wondered why she was pregnant, why she was riding the bus downtown, what had gone on with her in our time apart, and where was she going. Not like on the bus going but in her life, where was she going, what was her soul's trajectory? But I never saw her again, and didn't really think about it too much because the mushrooms kicked in. Back then I liked to ride my bike on the sidewalks downtown while on mushrooms; that was kinda my thing to do, because the old Sixth Street Marketplace had this cosmic reflection of the bass bump from passing vehicles when you'd sit under it. That marketplace is gone, cleared out for newer, shinier progress, and nobody even drives a Samurai Suzuki anymore, and I guess some people still drive Jeep Cherokees but usually just white people and not wacky little dreadlocked scary black dudes in Richmond with the bass up 19th degree.
Anyways, these songs made me think of Juliet because it was July when I listened to them, and that was her name, and I bet she's on Facebook but nobody can find me on Facebook because I don't use my real name, much less the name she knew me by.
FIRST UP: Rap-a-Lot empowerment, thickened with syrup!
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