Girls in the Ghetto: Part Two

Girls in the Ghetto: Part Two
Prostitutes & Brains All Over the Concrete
Cut by: Davita Cuttita

Okay. Davita apologizes for going MIA for so long but she has a lot of finalizing and money-mashing to do with school and getting her apartment. Davita has also dumped the former Russian lover-la-dah because she is allergic to bullshit and ignorance. My migraines have also returned with the vengeance of many moons right when it’s crunch time at the office to meet our deadline. Not to mention all of my exams this month are in French and what—what are we talking about? Ah yes. Children working in sweatshops and prostituting themselves in third world countries? I am very knowledgeable on these things! Of course I can answer these questions! What? You…you want me to say it all in Paris French? Um…fuck! >_<

Anyhoo, back to the ghetto.

I kinda ended the last time all dramatically talking about the violence so if you’re a squeamish kinda person, you may want to look away because Davita is going to tell you about the violence she saw as a kid. I’ve experienced quite a bit of ultra-violence, theft, beatings, shootings, stabbings, smash & stabbings and of course suicides; but here are a couple of tales that really stand out in my memory right now.

This took place in the ghetto…(where?)…in the ghetto! (Do ya’ll know that song?)


The first time I saw someone die I was six years old.

My Mom had just picked me up from daycare at night and we were going back to the apartment. We noticed a huge crowd around the building, some police cars, a giant searchlight and yellow-tape a la Hollywood.

There was a man, on about the sixth or seventh floor, standing with his arms outstretched in a flower-print dress and (what might’ve been) a wig, crying a little in between yelling “I’m proud of who I am!”

“Mummy, what’s going on?” I asked her.

“Nothing!” she said nervously. “There’s McDonalds upstairs!”

The man kept pacing, pacing, sobbing, sobbing, yelling, yelling.

The cops ACTUALLY yelled the typical “Don’t do it! You have so much to live for line!” but I suppose they didn’t do it with enough FEELING because he jumped.

He landed in the grass below, sprawled out, spread eagle. Not moving. Or anything at all, for that matter. The cops turned the lights off and there was a moment of dead silence.

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew through the area, lifting the man’s dress and exposing his naked bum-bum to the whole neighbourhood.

Poor guy.

There really was McDonald’s upstairs though; chicken nuggets.

We never talked about it. EVER.


Okay, so me and my sister were kinda hooligan-y girls when we were growing up. Not that we got in trouble, at school or whatever; we never did. We got good grades, did chores, wore little dresses and skirts on occasion, went to church on Sundays on our own, had fist fights. Cute as buttons.

HOWEVER, if you turned on wrestling all hell broke loose. Hulk Hogan would come on we’d be screaming like him and trying to tear our shirts.

Just picture it. Two little Jamaican girls, both under the age of seven; in the middle of the little room screaming “Hulk Hogan! Hulk Hogan! EEEEEEEE!!!! EEEEEEEEEE!!!! EEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!” and trying to tare their shirts off like him.

So, when the Spawn movie came out of course we were jumping all around wanting to watch stuff blow up and watch Spawn kill demons. My Mom sighed, and took us. I was about 10 or 11, my sister was about 9 or 8.

After the movie was over and my Mom walked two yelling, screaming, punching-the-air little girls back home, she went upstairs for a nap and left us in the park right beside the apartment building. Our Dad was coming by eventually (he was across the road at the other park with my little brothers) and it was barely 4PM on a nice summer day.

My sister and I had some movie nachos and popcorn left over and scoured the park for our friends. Strangely, the park was empty. We looked over at the other building adjacent to it and noticed our friends standing in a circle around something. Were they trying to see who was it for a game? We went over to investigate.

Unfortunately, nobody’s foot was in the middle of a circle as someone sang a rhyme, tapping toes to see who would be it and who’d be out.

Can’t blame them, I wouldn’t want that mess on my shoes.

What they—or we—were standing around was a dead body. This guy really did a number on himself though because he’d jumped from the highest floor on the building; the 25th.

I don’t think I have to give a very graphic description really of what we were all looking at so I’ll be as direct as possible. “Blood, brains and whatthehellisthatapartof” was everywhere.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Well,” one of the girls replied “We saw him getting ready to jump and I called everybody and we were all here yelling ‘Don’t jump!’ but then he just did it.”


The cops came eventually, and were all like “Kids, go home” and all that kinda stuff but we just stood there and watched them clean him up, put him in the black bag and take him away. An officer had a pressure hose and began clearing the concrete of his… “skull mess” but there was one little girl though. Maybe about five or six years old.

I don’t think I even noticed her until that moment. She’d been so quiet.

She began breathing hard and her eyes widened.

Suddenly, she began screaming. I’m talking blood-curdling screams, here.

And she just wouldn’t stop. An officer saw her and tried to hug her, pick her up, try and take her away and find her parents maybe put he could barely even hold her as she thrashed violently; still screaming.

Never saw her again.

It’s funny how these things never really have an ending except for the people who kill themselves.

Life’s a bitch, huh?

So there ya go. I could probably go on, but I’m sure we’re all fairly familiar with stabbings, theft and prostitution. SPEAKING OF WHICH! HERE’S A FUNNY STORY. A little consolation prize if you will, for you; the brave and lovely reader. This is one event close to Davita’s heart…


So, in seventh grade when we were all crazy coloured twelve year olds, my friends and I would take the train and streetcar to school everyday by ourselves.

When we got off the street car, we’d just cross the road and BAM, there’s the school. There would also be a six foot two tall, waif-thin, torn fishnet stocking wearing black male prostitute dressed as a woman wearing multiple fur coats; really short ones just on his shoulders. Did I mention he was addicted to crack and was covered in druggie sores and scratched constantly? He also wore platform heels or stilettos.

So every other morning, we’d get off the streetcar and it was like he could SMELL CHILDREN because he was either there waiting for us or would just come out of nowhere all like


I’m not making this up. REALLY!!

He even chased us at lunch time if we went on that side of the road for hamburgers (lotsa shops on that end).

Anyway, we’d be on the sidewalk arguing with this deranged stick-figure homage to fuckery until the light changed and we could run safely across the street.

We all called he/she Sunny.

THE FUNNIEST THING is that whenever one of us insulted Sunny enough for…he/she/it to get offended, he’d make this high-pitched “Ooh-whoa-ho-hoh!” sound and just stomp off.

One day, one of my friends offended Sunny SO BADLY that Sunny screamed “OOH-WHOA-HO-HOH!” and ran off dead smack into a garbage can and landed on his face, covered in falling garbage bags. Then, Sunny just LAY THERE screaming “OOH-WHOA-HO-HOH! OOH-WHOA-HO-HOH!!” over and over and over again, like a broken record, scratching wildly and tossing about in the garbage.

Funniest thing I’d ever seen in my life.

If that story doesn’t make you say no to drugs, you’re a lost cause.

Well, I’ve gotta get back to hustlin’. Just let that all sink in and simmer…

I’M A NORMAL PERSON, OK!? Not crazy. Not right now, anyhow.


~ by davitacuttita on July 9, 2008.

2 Responses to “Girls in the Ghetto: Part Two”

  1. LMAO! Allergic to bullshit and ignorance, man I am going to steal that line, I know it will be very useful!

  2. Davita is pleased to start a trend! Use the phrase–by all means!

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