
The mayor of Florence and Mills say he ain’t got no teeth but it’s all good. He gots a 40 and his hyna and stories that spill from the tapestry of scars and tats along his arms. He waits on the bus bench near the semáforo, watching the light change, watching the cars pass, waving to his homies. He watches the cars pass and thinks maybe today this day will be different. The mayor of Florence and Mills say he ain’t got no teeth but this broken guitar can still play and listen up I’ma sit here with my hyna and play you a song but step to the side son, he say, you’re blocking my view of the cars going by.