Mo' Better Blues Page #8

- Get out of my face.|- Listen to what l'm saying.

- Just get the f***...|- Who you pushing, man?

Kick his ass!

- Just relax, man.|- You're fired, punk!

F*** you, l quit!

F*** you and everybody|who looks like you.

F***ing people over.|Sooner or later it'll come back.

Anybody else want to go with him?|Take a hike!

Get his raggedy ass out of here.

You're fired, punk!

Get him out of here!|You're fired!

- You're fired!|- Let's talk to Bleek, man.

l got to get paid. l need this job, man.

- What's up, Jimmy?|- What's up, Giant?

Moe and Josh are some|cheap goober snitchers.

Whoo!

We don't believe|in killing our brothers,

but this time|you're definitely going to be hurt.

Get the f*** off.

Get off me!

- lsn't that Giant?|- Bleek!

What did l do?

You're breaking my arm.

- Up, up, and away.|- Ohill! Ohill! Ohill!

- Don't break them.

That's the way it goes.

Oh, yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

Oh, yeah!|One more. Another one.

The Mike Tyson now. There you go.

Hold it.

Bleek!

- Get the f*** up.|- Get up.

Bleek!

Oh, sh*t.

Brooklyn style.

Your alligator mouth finally got|your hummingbird ass whipped.

- Ohill out, man.|- Ain't nothing to see here.

Bleek!

Wake up!

Go on, brother. lt won't be pretty.

G?

- l was getting him the money tonight.|- Too late.

He ain't dead. He be all right.

- Why you do something like that?|- We going to have to give him some too.

- Straighten up.|- Oh, sh*t!

Damn it, give me the f***ing horn.

Son of a b*tch.

- Get out the way.|- Let us through.

What the f*** went on here?|Let us through.

You busted his mouth!|You busted his mouth!

- Do something, man.|- He's bleeding, man.

Go back inside and play.

- No.|- We got a full house in there.

- Let's close it up.|- F*** them!

- Leave it alone.|- We're never playing this place again.

- Don't say that. You're upset.|- You're goddamn right l'm upset.

My friend is laying here|with his mouth busted open.

We're closed. Everybody go home.

- Did you call the ambulance?|- Are you going to move, or what?

Get out of the way!

Don't move him, man!

The first fight you ever got in,

your mother wanted me to break it up,

call the cops,|go and talk to the parents of the kid.

l figured, kids are going to fight,

and you must have been only...|six, seven,...

so we were just talking about|little bare fists, just skin.

That was way before kids|started shooting each other with Uzis.

l watched you from the window

going toe to toe, slugging it out.

Your mother never forgave me,|but l got to admit l was kind of proud.

You gave the kid a bloody nose,|but you didn't kill him.

That's a part of growing up.

You ran up the stairs, crying.

You were more scared than the kid was.

Wasn't that Giant? That was Giant.

Sh*t, man. Sh*t.

The light.

Truth is the light.

Prophetic, right?

Truth is light, though,|that's the truth, isn't it? Lighten up.

That some bad sh*t.

Trumpet-playing motherf***er.|On trumpet, Bleek.

Tenor, soprano, saxophones.

John Ooltrane, tenor sax. Tenor.

You got to improvise that music.|lt's all intricate, see?

lt goes....

See? See? See?

lt's some intricate sh*t, though.|They ain't ready for this sh*t.

And he was the quarterback|of the football team.

He was thls tall,|blg, flne, black speclmen.

- Mandlngo, huh?|- No.

Anyway, the first time|l fell in love was...

Was when? No, l remember.

lt was... lt was... lt was innocent.

- She felt the same way, too.|- Yeah? So how recent was this?

Last Tuesday. Last week.|No, it was Wednesday.

- The fourth grade.|- ln the fourth grade?

Thank you. You had me worried.

We used to pass notes back and forth.

One day she met me in the courtyard|after school, and she kissed me.

- French kiss?|- We French kissed.

And l was, like, wow.

- l never felt that way since.|- Not even with me?

- What ls thls?|- What ls what?

Are we lovers, or what?|Why don't you try and flnd that glrl

and marry her|and llve happlly ever after?

You stlll love me?

- G.|- Bleek, what's up?

How you doing, man?

Where you been? Ain't nobody seen|hide nor hair of your ass.

You know, l'm...

How you doing?

l'm all right.|l got this job now. l'm a doorman.

l stopped gambling.|You should be proud of me.

l still got to go to those meetings|once a week.

- Good.|- Yeah.

You sitting in with Shadow?

We talked about it.

Yeah? Good. Shadow and Olarke|are doing all right now.

Yeah, l... l'm happy for him, man.

He always wanted his own band.|l'm happy for him.

- Big time.|- Big time.

- l'm gonna step on inside, man.|- l'll come with you.

- All right.|- l got to hear you.

Right.

You can never tell|what's ln a man's mlnd

And lf he's from Harlem|there's no use of even trylng

Just llke the tlde|hls mlnd comes and goes

Llke March weather|when he'll change

Nobody knows, nobody knows

The man l love|Well, hejust turned me down

He's a Harlem brown

Ofttlmes l wlsh|that l was ln thls ground

Slx feet underground

He allows me as no other could

No, no

Then he surprlsed me|leavlng me a note saylng he's

Gone for good

And slnce my sweetle left me hollow

Well, lt aln't the same old place

Though a thousand dandles|smlle rlght ln my face

l thlnk l'll mooch some|home-made hooch and go out for a lark

Just to drlve off these mean old|Harlem blues

You can have your Broadway|Glve me Lenox Avenue

Angels from the skles stroll Seventh

And for that thanks are due

From Madame Walker's beauty shops to

The Poro system too

That made those glrls angels|wlthout any doubt

There are some spots up ln Harlem

Where l'm told lt's sudden death

To let somebody see you|even stop to catch your breath

lf you've never been to Harlem

Then l guess you'll never know

About these mean old Harlem blues

There's one sweet spot ln Harlem

Known as Drlvers'Road

Dltty folk song call 'em|One thlng you should know

ls that l have a frlend|who llves there

l know he won't refuse

To put some muslc to my troubles|and call them Harlem Blues

To put some muslc to my troubles and

Call them the Harlem Blues

Harlem

The Harlem Blues

Harlem

The Harlem Blues

Olarke sure can sing, Bleek.

Thank you.

Er...

Right now l'd like to bring to the stage|a fine musician

and, as well, a very dear friend.

Please give a warm welcome|to Mr Bleek Gilliam.

Bleek!

Come on, Bleek!

What are you doing this for?

Nah.

Come on, Bleek.

Forget about it.

Man, you're gonna be all right.

Forget about it.

Come on, Bleek.

You'll play again.

You'll play again.

l won't sell it.

l won't sell it, Bleek!

l won't sell it!

lndigo!

lndigo!

Who is it?|Who the hell is ringing my bell?

Hello, lndigo. Oan l come in?

You didn't return|my calls or my letters.

Refused my visits.

lt doesn't matter now.|l just want to...

lt doesn't matter?

l haven't heard from you in over a year.

l didn't know if you were alive or dead.

l'm sorry. Look, l didn't know.

l haven't seen anybody.|The only one l've seen is my father.

You've always been a selfish person.

l admit that. l'm selfish.|l'm a selfish...

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