Post by The Phoenix on Mar 27, 2006 22:17:10 GMT -5
The Story of:
B.O.B.B.Y. D.I.G.I.T.A.L.
By: David McGuff


“Hey Robert, you’re starting to look scraggly, swing by my place later and I’ll line you up.”
“Word up, I’ll stop by later,’ Robert quickly replied running his hand over his head and hair. It had gotten long, but for some reason he hadn’t noticed. Usually Robert was always looking his best. Jeans pressed, chain shining, and hair perfectly groomed. His mind has been busy lately. Actually it was plagued by constant running thoughts.
The police had begun to suspect and accuse Robert of some local graffiti, among other things. Whether or not he was innocent or guilty, would depend on who you ask. If you asked Robert Diggs himself, he would deny his own name. If you asked the police, he was responsible for any unsolved crime within a thirty mile radius. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle, but nobody knows for sure, except maybe Robert.
With the matter of his hair being solved, Robert continued on his way out of the project. Sometimes, this could be a forty-five minute journey, although it is not because of the length of the trek. Most times on your way out you would be stopped to gossip, get the latest news on who’s put in jail, who fought who, and who’s dating who. You could get offered any number of illegal drugs and paraphernalia. Even worse, sometimes a fistfight is mandatory to leave your housing project.
The Stapleton Projects were no different from any other cheap public housing placed in inner, New York City. All are crime ridden, drug infested, and dangerous, this is what Robert and many call home. The sad part is he isn’t exactly a victim, but more of a participant in the evils of his world.
BOOM! Robert blew through the door to discover it was another cold winter day, wind blowing, and a small flurry of snow from time to time. He shivered, pulled up his hood, and folded his arms in his jacket, and continued down the steps, and off through the neighborhood.
Being as cold as it was, you’d think everybody would be inside their warm home, but that was not the case. Every street corner was populated with a group of seven or eight men. All huddled close together, bundled up in thick jackets, warm hats on heads, and occasionally you’d hear a universal chuckle throughout the group. All or most were just talking neighborhood gossip, or sometimes politics. Though, most conversations involved more threats toward politicians, than actual transaction of opinions.
Robert approached a group that he knew, after shaking hands and giving the standard hello’s, he took a spot in the circle, and blew in his hands trying to warm up. It wasn’t long before he joined in the conversation, and blended in seamlessly with the rest of the guys around him.
“Yo son, did you hear Jameel got locked up?”
“Yeah, he’s going away for a year!”
Officer Troi and Riker turned the corner to notice the group standing there. The circle became completely silent, everybody looked anywhere, but at the policemen, so as not to draw attention to themselves. It was to no avail though, the officers pulled over their dark blue squad car, put it in park, and let the engine purr for a moment. After turning it off, the two officers stepped out adjusting their pants, and getting used to the brisk whip of the wind. Although the two had similar mindsets, their physical appearance couldn’t be more different. Jean Troi, a fifteen year veteran of the force, was about 5’7”, and saying he was stocky would be an understatement. In fact, his facial and body features helped you picture that of a roly poly. Frank Riker had only been an cop for thirteen months. He wasn’t all that intimidating, actually if he walked out of a high school with students you wouldn’t double take. He was about 6’2”, and lanky, with a long baby face, and an army crew cut.
“What exactly are you fellows, doing here?” queried Troi. There was no response, an uneasy silence came over everybody there. Until, Robert stepped forward, “We’re just standing here man, we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Officer Riker, I think we have ourselves a belligerent,” Troi paused and went from looking at Riker back to Robert, “son, I think you need to watch your tone with me.” Robert had a look of disbelief on his face, but that was quickly replaced with that of anger. He stepped forward and uttered some profanities toward the officers. The officers retaliated back with racial slurs, taunting Robert to do something he would regret. After an exchange of a few more words, Troi decided he had heard enough.
“Officer Riker, cuff ‘em and stuff ‘em!” he stated in a monotone, with a small smirk on his face. Before Robert could react he’d been ambushed by the two officers who wrestled him to the ground and snapped the cuffs on him. It wasn’t much of a struggle due to the shock that Robert was in. He hadn’t even noticed that everybody else in the circle had dispersed when the conversation became heated.
After a short scuffle, Robert realized he was a t the mercy of the officer’s will. He decided to keep his mouth closed to try to diffuse the situation, but it was to no avail. He was thrown inside the back of the squad car, and the car pulled off. People were cautiously watching the situation from home windows and around corners of buildings. The flocks of people returned to their regular activities after the departure of the police car.
The police car traveled in silence for several blocks before Officer Troi broke it, “So, Frank what do you think we should do with him?”
“What’re you talking about? You’re taking me to the Police Station, right?” asked Robert in complete disbelief.
“Oh no boy, jail doesn’t teach delinquents like you a lesson, no, hoodlums like you require a more strict punishment,” answered Riker swiftly and sternly. As he answered the car jerked to the right down a dark and dirty alley. It slammed to a stop throwing a defenseless Robert into the steel cage face first. He groaned and slowly picked himself up and leaned back onto the seat, trying to gather himself. He wasn’t able to though, because as soon as he regained his awareness, he was snatched out of the car and thrown to the pavement. Nose gushing blood, laying face down he had no choice but to marinate in his own wine colored juice. Before he could even begin to figure out what was going on he was being kicked and stomped with glossy, black lace-up boots. Without much of a wait billy clubs were drawn and doing what they’re known for. The dull THUD, of each strike echoed in the alley. A few bums realized what was happening and jumped up and scurried off as fast as their failing bodies could.
After several minutes the Officers received a transmission over the radio, “BZZZZZ, we have a 187 on Fordham, calling all cars, calling all cars, BZZZZZ.” Troi heard the statement, but it took him a moment to react. When he did, he let out a chuckle, turned to the back of Robert’s bloody head and uttered, “You got lucky this time, have a good day sir.” With that the two surveyed the landscape and made sure there were no stray witnesses, then quickly entered their car and squealed off into the day.
It had been at least seven or eight hours before Robert regained consciousness and raised his head from the cold, icy pavement. His own blood had become frozen and held his face to the pavement. With a little effort he raised himself out of the frozen plasma and took in his surroundings. He tried to yell for help, but all he could get out was a low groan of pain. He decided that he was his only hope, so he rolled over and noticed a lack of weight in his pant pockets. He had been robbed of his wallet and bus passes, so he was penniless, miles away from home in the middle of the night. He did notice that the cops had been kind enough to remove the handcuffs before departing. It was more to prevent being caught than being kind, but the action was appreciated nonetheless.
It had to be a half-hour before Robert regained strength enough to begin the journey back home. With the slow baby steps he was taking it would be a long journey. As he walked Robert thought, as he always did. He thought to himself, “If they want to treat me like a criminal, I’m going to give them a just reason to beat me!” He noticed a computer store, with an inviting large glass window “BEN’S COMPUTER STORE” labeled on the front. Without a moment of hesitation Robert had already sent a rock hurling through the window. He hopped in and took a look about the store. There was an assortment of highly valuable materials. The smell of plastic was strong in the air, but Robert paid it’s unpleasantness no mind as he approached a brand new computer.
“This should be worth something,” Robert let him self know.
B.O.B.B.Y. D.I.G.I.T.A.L.
By: David McGuff


“Hey Robert, you’re starting to look scraggly, swing by my place later and I’ll line you up.”
“Word up, I’ll stop by later,’ Robert quickly replied running his hand over his head and hair. It had gotten long, but for some reason he hadn’t noticed. Usually Robert was always looking his best. Jeans pressed, chain shining, and hair perfectly groomed. His mind has been busy lately. Actually it was plagued by constant running thoughts.
The police had begun to suspect and accuse Robert of some local graffiti, among other things. Whether or not he was innocent or guilty, would depend on who you ask. If you asked Robert Diggs himself, he would deny his own name. If you asked the police, he was responsible for any unsolved crime within a thirty mile radius. The truth probably lies somewhere in the middle, but nobody knows for sure, except maybe Robert.
With the matter of his hair being solved, Robert continued on his way out of the project. Sometimes, this could be a forty-five minute journey, although it is not because of the length of the trek. Most times on your way out you would be stopped to gossip, get the latest news on who’s put in jail, who fought who, and who’s dating who. You could get offered any number of illegal drugs and paraphernalia. Even worse, sometimes a fistfight is mandatory to leave your housing project.
The Stapleton Projects were no different from any other cheap public housing placed in inner, New York City. All are crime ridden, drug infested, and dangerous, this is what Robert and many call home. The sad part is he isn’t exactly a victim, but more of a participant in the evils of his world.
BOOM! Robert blew through the door to discover it was another cold winter day, wind blowing, and a small flurry of snow from time to time. He shivered, pulled up his hood, and folded his arms in his jacket, and continued down the steps, and off through the neighborhood.
Being as cold as it was, you’d think everybody would be inside their warm home, but that was not the case. Every street corner was populated with a group of seven or eight men. All huddled close together, bundled up in thick jackets, warm hats on heads, and occasionally you’d hear a universal chuckle throughout the group. All or most were just talking neighborhood gossip, or sometimes politics. Though, most conversations involved more threats toward politicians, than actual transaction of opinions.
Robert approached a group that he knew, after shaking hands and giving the standard hello’s, he took a spot in the circle, and blew in his hands trying to warm up. It wasn’t long before he joined in the conversation, and blended in seamlessly with the rest of the guys around him.
“Yo son, did you hear Jameel got locked up?”
“Yeah, he’s going away for a year!”
Officer Troi and Riker turned the corner to notice the group standing there. The circle became completely silent, everybody looked anywhere, but at the policemen, so as not to draw attention to themselves. It was to no avail though, the officers pulled over their dark blue squad car, put it in park, and let the engine purr for a moment. After turning it off, the two officers stepped out adjusting their pants, and getting used to the brisk whip of the wind. Although the two had similar mindsets, their physical appearance couldn’t be more different. Jean Troi, a fifteen year veteran of the force, was about 5’7”, and saying he was stocky would be an understatement. In fact, his facial and body features helped you picture that of a roly poly. Frank Riker had only been an cop for thirteen months. He wasn’t all that intimidating, actually if he walked out of a high school with students you wouldn’t double take. He was about 6’2”, and lanky, with a long baby face, and an army crew cut.
“What exactly are you fellows, doing here?” queried Troi. There was no response, an uneasy silence came over everybody there. Until, Robert stepped forward, “We’re just standing here man, we’re not doing anything wrong.”
“Officer Riker, I think we have ourselves a belligerent,” Troi paused and went from looking at Riker back to Robert, “son, I think you need to watch your tone with me.” Robert had a look of disbelief on his face, but that was quickly replaced with that of anger. He stepped forward and uttered some profanities toward the officers. The officers retaliated back with racial slurs, taunting Robert to do something he would regret. After an exchange of a few more words, Troi decided he had heard enough.
“Officer Riker, cuff ‘em and stuff ‘em!” he stated in a monotone, with a small smirk on his face. Before Robert could react he’d been ambushed by the two officers who wrestled him to the ground and snapped the cuffs on him. It wasn’t much of a struggle due to the shock that Robert was in. He hadn’t even noticed that everybody else in the circle had dispersed when the conversation became heated.
After a short scuffle, Robert realized he was a t the mercy of the officer’s will. He decided to keep his mouth closed to try to diffuse the situation, but it was to no avail. He was thrown inside the back of the squad car, and the car pulled off. People were cautiously watching the situation from home windows and around corners of buildings. The flocks of people returned to their regular activities after the departure of the police car.
The police car traveled in silence for several blocks before Officer Troi broke it, “So, Frank what do you think we should do with him?”
“What’re you talking about? You’re taking me to the Police Station, right?” asked Robert in complete disbelief.
“Oh no boy, jail doesn’t teach delinquents like you a lesson, no, hoodlums like you require a more strict punishment,” answered Riker swiftly and sternly. As he answered the car jerked to the right down a dark and dirty alley. It slammed to a stop throwing a defenseless Robert into the steel cage face first. He groaned and slowly picked himself up and leaned back onto the seat, trying to gather himself. He wasn’t able to though, because as soon as he regained his awareness, he was snatched out of the car and thrown to the pavement. Nose gushing blood, laying face down he had no choice but to marinate in his own wine colored juice. Before he could even begin to figure out what was going on he was being kicked and stomped with glossy, black lace-up boots. Without much of a wait billy clubs were drawn and doing what they’re known for. The dull THUD, of each strike echoed in the alley. A few bums realized what was happening and jumped up and scurried off as fast as their failing bodies could.
After several minutes the Officers received a transmission over the radio, “BZZZZZ, we have a 187 on Fordham, calling all cars, calling all cars, BZZZZZ.” Troi heard the statement, but it took him a moment to react. When he did, he let out a chuckle, turned to the back of Robert’s bloody head and uttered, “You got lucky this time, have a good day sir.” With that the two surveyed the landscape and made sure there were no stray witnesses, then quickly entered their car and squealed off into the day.
It had been at least seven or eight hours before Robert regained consciousness and raised his head from the cold, icy pavement. His own blood had become frozen and held his face to the pavement. With a little effort he raised himself out of the frozen plasma and took in his surroundings. He tried to yell for help, but all he could get out was a low groan of pain. He decided that he was his only hope, so he rolled over and noticed a lack of weight in his pant pockets. He had been robbed of his wallet and bus passes, so he was penniless, miles away from home in the middle of the night. He did notice that the cops had been kind enough to remove the handcuffs before departing. It was more to prevent being caught than being kind, but the action was appreciated nonetheless.
It had to be a half-hour before Robert regained strength enough to begin the journey back home. With the slow baby steps he was taking it would be a long journey. As he walked Robert thought, as he always did. He thought to himself, “If they want to treat me like a criminal, I’m going to give them a just reason to beat me!” He noticed a computer store, with an inviting large glass window “BEN’S COMPUTER STORE” labeled on the front. Without a moment of hesitation Robert had already sent a rock hurling through the window. He hopped in and took a look about the store. There was an assortment of highly valuable materials. The smell of plastic was strong in the air, but Robert paid it’s unpleasantness no mind as he approached a brand new computer.
“This should be worth something,” Robert let him self know.