The Odds

"The Odds are Stacked against You! Young black fella like you! It's true. It's hard. It's hard out there. The System is against you. The Odds are stacked against you . . . " A retired navy pilot said that to me tonight. He was drunk off his asses - both his mouth and his foot. But He was a cool old fat white fart i suppose. He spoke very frank with me as we walked down the corridors of the Omni bridge on a cold, sleepy, weathered night in Atlanta Georgia - the city where i pull the grist out of many hours of sheepish borish evenings. This old curmudgeon couldn't stop smiling as he spoke openly and honest, wobbling, missing a step ever third footfall . I didn't mind the conversation. I needed it. I needed to hear what he said. Yet This is the last season for me as a security officer in this city and i think that's the most important piece of causual confabulation i i've ever been handed . . . still i move on with my life . . . i'll forget what that man said eventually and move on across the globe in my own nimble way regardless of what the odds are . . . the odds have never been great anyways - i suppose . . . and i'm still standing here, working, walking, spitting in the wind. i figure this last stretch of life will be the hardest but if youth has taught me anything, it's taught me resilensce. Alicia keys sings in my head tonight, "No one, No one, No one, No one, " and that's all i remember of that song. So no matter what the odds are old fat curmudgeon, no one or nothing will destroy my resilence . . .