Hia-fucking-leah.

Hia-fucking-leah.
That's what's written on a tank top I bought years ago from the one smoke shop in east Hialeah by Westland, excuse me, Westfield Mall. I can't get over the name change. Now, they have valet for crying out loud! Valet?! Hialeah?! I guess we are moving up in the world. It wasn't too long ago that we couldn't get a Starbucks around here because the per capita income wasn't high enough, now I think we have five. And the palm trees. We're planting palm trees like there's no tomorrow. It's not the gables yet, but maybe, just maybe, we'll be too fancy smanchy for the churro man one day. I hope not. Maybe that's why I'm writing this, to preserve the memory of the Hialeah I grew up in, where Tony Montana is a hero, not an antihero. Then again that goes for most of Miami, even fancy smanchy Gables.
Back to the tank top.
When i saw that tank top. I laughed my ass off. It was too perfect a statement for how many of us here, the youth, feel about growing up here. The English speaking, college bound crowd feel trapped in limbo around here. We love it and hate it. As much as many of us try to hide it, we're all a little ghetto around here. Power 96 used to DJ at our middle school for crying out loud. That was 20 years ago and DJ Laz is still king on the radio. God Bless him. Love it or hate it, Hialeah helped shape who we were. And even though I didn't see it then, I'm glad for the humility it taught me. Damn I have stories! Don't we all, but mine are mine to tell and mine alone.
Talk to you later, "bro." :P