Joe Ide Quotes

It’s a hustler’s world, son,” Dodson said, “and if you ain’t doing the hustlin’? Somebody’s hustlin’ you.

Isaiah went on explaining like a college professor talking to a not very bright middle school student:

A customer came in, the only one in the last couple of hours. The man had the shakes and was looking around like he’d lost a child at the county fair. He was a regular, somewhere between forty and sixty, his face sagging like Auntie May’s basset hound, his eyes yellow and bloodshot from seeing too much of his own life.

Let me give you some advice, son. Don’t never front with a woman. Be who you are, and if you ain’t sure, be not sure. They way ahead of us anyway. Don’t matter what you do, they’ll find out your true shit sooner or later.

Then they have a son that’s dumber than a box of hair, he gets married and has kids that play hide-and-seek in the rosebushes.

You’re on a fool’s journey, Mr. Quintabe,” Bobby said. “That’s okay. I’ve been a fool before.” As

Thank you, Anthony,” Dodson said. “Isaiah cogitates best when there are no distractions.” “What’s

The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected. I believe it was your Robert Frost who said that. I once took a class on American poets. A bit too optimistic and sentimental for my tastes.

Sorrow isn’t a place you can leave behind. It’s part of you. It changes the way you see, feel, and think, and every once in a while, the pain isn’t remembered, it’s relived; the anguish as real and heartbreaking as if it was happening all over again.

What Mariah Carey should be telling them is to follow their abilities and make a dream out of what God gave them.” Marcus smiled that big sunny smile and saw the future in Isaiah’s eyes. “God gave you wings so you could fly up that pathway to the very top,” he said. “That’s where the best dreams are.” Isaiah

Il paradiso è chiuso?” disse Joe incredulo. “È fallito da un po’,” disse l’aeronauta disinteressata. “Ho visto io stessa gli ultimi dei suoi cittadini andare via. Uscivano dalle porte del paradiso come bambini curiosi che si avventurano in un luogo pensando di poter finire nei guai.” “Dove sono andati?” chiese Joe. “Chi lo sa,” rispose lei. “Sono tornati sulla Terra, in qualche altra esistenza, o forse hanno visto come il resto di noi andava avanti e hanno deciso che stavamo meglio di loro. Ma se ne sono andati e con una fretta entusiasta.” “San Pietro ha chiuso la porta, eh?” intervenne Baker. L’aeronauta sbuffò irritata. “Non gli è mai piaciuto molto il lavoro o il vestito. Sandali e tunica sono così fuori moda. Stava aspettando che tutti si svegliassero dalle loro idee inflessibili e stagnanti. Ha accettato il lavoro solo perché tutti — ogni singolo cristiano sulla Terra — si aspettava che lui fosse qui ad aspettarli. Verso la fine è diventato lunatico. Era un lavoro che gli avevano imposto, dopotutto. Non ha mai chiesto di essere il guardiano del cancello.” “Dov’è adesso?” chiese Joe. “È tornato a un’altra vita sulla Terra. Voleva fare tutto da capo, ma questa volta con meno responsabilità. È stato qui per tutte le età della Terra. Sperava di potersi riunire con quegli altri undici pazzi che facevano parte della sua banda. Dico ‘pazzi’ con affetto, naturalmente.” Disse l’ultima parte come se si trattasse di un fardello. “Intendi gli apostoli?” “Quello che sono,” disse lei, sempre guardando davanti. “Allora, cosa ha portato tutti a svegliarsi finalmente?” “Qual è la causa per cui tutti noi capiamo finalmente qualcosa che si trova davanti ai nostri occhi? Chi lo sa? Non so dirtelo. Hanno avuto un’epifania, suppongo. Hanno capito che doveva esserci più nella morte che girare su soffici nuvole e cantare nei cori. Probabilmente erano veramente annoiati.

When Isaiah was in his teens, he worked for Harry Haldeman and wondered even then how the man could stay in a state of perpetual indignation; his fierce dark eyes glaring through the Coke-bottle bifocals resting on his great beak of a nose, his snow-white hair sticking up like a toilet brush. Isaiah thought he looked like an orchestra conductor. Harry’s wife, Louise, said he looked like an eagle wearing glasses. “Pit

On the SB5 Stanford-Binet intelligence test Isaiah’s reasoning scores were near genius levels. His abilities came naturally but were honed in his math classes. He was formally introduced to inductive reasoning in geometry, a tenth-grade subject he took in the eighth. His teacher, Mrs. Washington, was a severe woman who looked to be all gristle underneath her brightly colored pantsuits. Lavender, Kelly green, peach. She talked to the class like somebody had tricked her into it. “All

Isaiah told him what he’d found on the Ruby’s Real Beauty website. Ruby’s stocked the largest, most complete inventory of human hair extensions in the South Bay area. The most highly prized were Virgin Remy. “Virgin because the girl still had her cherry?” Dodson said. “No. Virgin because the hair wasn’t chemically treated,” Isaiah said. “What’s Remy mean?” “It means the hair was carefully cut so the cuticles and roots stayed in the same direction. Otherwise, they mow it down like weeds and throw it in a bin.” Isaiah

He’d never experienced hate before. It was like an ulcer growing on a tumor, festering and stinking. Late at night or between dreams and sleep, he’d get into it, bathing in the venom, wallowing in thoughts of revenge. In a way, the hate felt good. You were righteous, godlike, the dispenser of justice. Hate dispelled your fears and forged every disappointment, setback, loss, humiliation, and failure that ever happened to you into one massive steel sledgehammer of rage, poised to obliterate, and for one brief, purifying moment, give you relief.

All right,” she said. “Inductive reasoning. It’s what those so-called detectives on CSI, SVU, LMNOP and all the rest of them call deductive reasoning, which is wrong and they should know better. It’s inductive reasoning, a tool you will use frequently in geometry as well as calculus and trigonometry, assuming you get that far and that certainly won’t be you, Jacquon. Stop messing with that girl’s hair and pay attention. Your grade on that last test was so low I had to write it on the bottom of my shoe.” Mrs. Washington glared at Jacquon until his face melted. She began again: “Inductive reasoning is reasoning to the most likely explanation. It begins with one or more observations, and from those observations we come to a conclusion that seems to make sense. All right. An example: Jacquon was walking home from school and somebody hit him on the head with a brick twenty-five times. Mrs. Washington and her husband, Wendell, are the suspects. Mrs. Washington is five feet three, a hundred and ten pounds, and teaches school. Wendell is six-two, two-fifty, and works at a warehouse. So who would you say is the more likely culprit?” Isaiah and the rest of the class said Wendell. “Why?” Mrs. Washington said. “Because Mrs. Washington may have wanted to hit Jacquon with a brick twenty-five times but she isn’t big or strong enough. Seems reasonable given the facts at hand, but here’s where inductive reasoning can lead you astray. You might not have all the facts. Such as Wendell is an accountant at the warehouse who exercises by getting out of bed in the morning, and before Mrs. Washington was a schoolteacher she was on the wrestling team at San Diego State in the hundred-and-five-to-hundred-and-sixteen-pound weight class and would have won her division if that blond girl from Cal Northridge hadn’t stuck a thumb in her eye. Jacquon, I know your mother and if I tell her about your behavior she will beat you ’til your name is Jesus.” The

Burnout is very real. I see it in my practice on a daily basis. Men and women from every age and walk of life are so overwhelmed they can hardly function.” “Maybe they’re just working too hard.” “A common misconception. A person can suffer from burnout even if they’re a couch potato. You can burn out from being idle just like you can burn out from success. The common denominator is prolonged frustration.” “Spinning your wheels.” “Exactly. The feeling that no matter what you do you’re in the same place as you were yesterday. That there’s simply no reason to continue because you’d still be sunk in the same mire, running on the same treadmill, dancing the same tired dance. The housewife, the cop, the slacker, or the business tycoon can all suffer from burnout.” Cal

All right,” she said. “Inductive reasoning. It’s what those so-called detectives on CSI, SVU, LMNOP and all the rest of them call deductive reasoning, which is wrong and they should know better. It’s inductive reasoning, a tool you will use frequently in geometry as well as calculus and trigonometry, assuming you get that far and that certainly won’t be you, Jacquon. Stop messing with that girl’s hair and pay attention. Your grade on that last test was so low I had to write it on the bottom of my shoe.” Mrs. Washington glared at Jacquon until his face melted. She began again: “Inductive reasoning is reasoning to the most likely explanation. It begins with one or more observations, and from those observations we come to a conclusion that seems to make sense. All right. An example: Jacquon was walking home from school and somebody hit him on the head with a brick twenty-five times. Mrs. Washington and her husband, Wendell, are the suspects. Mrs. Washington is five feet three, a hundred and ten pounds, and teaches school. Wendell is six-two, two-fifty, and works at a warehouse. So who would you say is the more likely culprit?” Isaiah

Isaiah wasn’t a fan of rap to begin with but this had accordions and trumpets in it and sounded like some pissed-off Mexicans shouting over a polka band.

Americans liked to say the Chinese were like that as if brutality was a cultural characteristic instead of a characteristic of the destitute; people who have to fight for every morsel, drop, bite, breath. People did such things everywhere, not just in the third world. It was happening in America, where poverty wasn’t an excuse. Teenagers set fire to homeless people, soldiers raped their subordinates, guards let prisoners out of their cells to kill other prisoners, police shot the mentally ill. It wouldn’t be long before they were eating their Labradoodles and throwing their unwanted children off the Bay Bridge. Yes, Americans should mind their own business, clean their own house.

If there were ever two words that had no meaning they were moving on. Sorrow isn’t a place you can leave behind. It’s part of you. It changes the way you see, feel, and think, and every once in a while, the pain isn’t remembered, it’s relived; the anguish as real and heartbreaking as if it was happening all over again.

A hoochie-looking girl with a backside like two hams in an Easter basket was looking into the cooler.

Rebecca told her, “Trust requires practice, and in those terms you’re a lazy bum.

you profited from a product manufactured specifically to kill people you were, to one degree or another, culpable, and if you can’t handle it, take an immunity pill from human suffering and get on with your fucking business

Gilberto handled the drone like his own personal falcon. It did everything but kill a pigeon, land on a treetop and eat the thing for lunch.

tibia.

Jacquon, I know your mother and if I tell her about your behavior she will beat you ’til your name is Jesus.

Repercussions will manifest beyond your ability to cope.

Isaiah was still embarrassed about the conversation with Grace. He was apparently less appealing than a four-legged creature that ate dog food, shed like a dying Christmas tree, couldn’t speak English, and crapped all over the yard.

Yes, you made your own decisions but they weren’t on your own behalf. You made them to benefit others, to make things go smoothly, to avoid trouble, to meet responsibilities and a list of other boring-ass things.

I can’t be diminished by people talking no matter who they are but I will be if I take that money.

She moved through the light from the stained-glass windows, now gold, now red, now blue, like heaven’s police car was pulling her over for being too fine. The

The pressure of being with her was like a test of personality and social skills.

Marcus used to say when you’re stuck and you feel like there’s no way forward, go the other way. Go back to the beginning.

Maybe stepping out of his isolated life wasn't such a good idea after all. People, it turned out, were a big pain in the ass.

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Ain’t no refunds up in here,” she said. “The hell you think this is, Walmart? You bought it, you eat it.” Another customer complained that the mac and cheese was too greasy. “Cheese is grease,” she said, like he was a moron. “The macaroni don’t do nothin’ but hold the grease—what? Yeah, you write a bad review and see if I don’t come lookin’ for your ass.” Which the guy quoted word for word on Yelp.

As the years rolled by, Tommy didn’t talk about the debt anymore but it was implicit that Ken could never quit. He had the affair with Angela, and Sarita entered his life. Then he married a stewardess from Hong Kong, and Janine was born. The stewardess missed her family and went back home to Hong Kong, thank God, and now he was a very wealthy pimp under a death sentence, locked in his own bedroom, afraid for his daughter’s life but more afraid of climbing down a drainpipe.

He was happy because he knew he was going to die.

to

Nestor wondered why the guy didn't stay around & be a hero.....Nestor would have to find him & thank him personally. A black guy who shot grenades couldn't be too hard to find.

We’d like to see the security supervisor,” Isaiah said. “You mean Ed?” she said, as if they were making a silly mistake. “If that’s his name.” “What

Come on in,” he said without getting up. “I’m Ed Blevins. Please, sit-sit, we’re not formal around here. Let me guess. You’re here about the stolen presents. It’s Mrs. Jenkins, isn’t it? And you are—” “A

When Bobby was promoting raves back in Sacramento, Jimmy Bonifant was dealing ecstasy and what was the point of going to a rave without a double drop of vitamin X? The two hustlers shared a condo, ate breakfast at the Silver Skillet at three in the morning, and brought tweakers home and did them in the same room. Eventually,

Well, let me see. He’s got a tattoo on his forearm, I saw it when he was drinking my orange juice straight out of the box. It was a crown, like a king’s crown and some letters, CRR or CMM, something like that. And what else? Some numbers. Nineteen hundred?” “The crown is for Prince Street,” Isaiah said, “and it’s seventeen hundred. That’s the block number. The letters are CHH. For Crip Headhunters.” “I just remembered,” Tudor said. “There were some initials too. BK. Yes, I’m sure about that. BK. That should narrow it down some, don’t you think?” “BK means Blood killer,” Isaiah said. “Crips and Bloods are enemies.” “Good

The brown apartment building was L-shaped. All the doors were facing in, big white patches where the paint had chipped off the stucco. Laundry was draped over the second-story railing, an overflowing dumpster in the parking lot. Isaiah parked the Explorer facing the sun so you couldn’t see him through the glare of the windshield. Women sat outside their doors talking.

Isaiah was eating the last of the trail mix when Darcy emerged from an upstairs apartment. She was sixteen going on thirty-five, wearing a bathrobe over a slip and fuzzy slippers. She leaned against the railing and looked down at the parking lot like she was disappointed it was still there. Somebody called her. Her shoulders sagged. She looked skyward and shuffled back inside. Isaiah

I be at the strip club, gettin’ me some hot rub, tokin’ on a big dub, hungry for some big grub. Split to the crib, nuttin’ in the fridge, ho was doin’ sack time, woke her up double time. (chorus) Where’s my samitch, bitch? I said! Where’s my samitch, bitch? I said! Where’s my samitch, bitch? I’m hongreee! Where’s my samitch, bitch? “Could

Segovia, Yusef Lateef, Yo-Yo Ma. But no singers. Music without words let him fill his head with images of his own making or no images at all.

You always keep an AK in the umbrella stand?” Isaiah said, looking at it. “Remind me not to come over here when it’s raining,” Dodson said. “It’s a long story,” Anthony said. “Part of the reason you’re here. Cal’s going to meet us in the game room.” Isaiah saw anger and exasperation in Anthony’s eyes like he’d been forced to work overtime too many nights in a row. Anthony led them through the house, walking fast like he was late for something, more chandeliers lighting the way. “In case you’re wondering, I’m Cal’s majordomo,” he said. “I deal with the lawyers, publicists, and promoters. I organize his schedule and run interference with his record label and whoever else wants a piece of him.” Isaiah

Isaiah knew houses like this existed but he’d never been inside one. The sheer quantity of overstuffed furniture, marble flooring, life-size paintings, exotic statuary, burnished woods, heavy drapery, and gilded mirrors made the house feel like a furniture store after everyone had gone home. “I

And Noelle discovered that even unlimited excess loses its charm, the thrill of getting anything she wanted wearing thinner and thinner. Wasn’t that the whole point? Wanting, waiting, struggling, and then getting it. Not wanting and getting in the same damn breath. She found herself thinking about the ordinary issues everybody else thought about. How can I feel good about myself? What am I passionate about? Can I succeed on my own? How do I get Charles and Bug out of my fucking house? Calvin

I’m up from nothin’, I come from nowhere goin’ solo on the road to everywhere Don’t need the hard sellin’, feelin’ the ground swellin’ The blade of my saber sickle-cellin’ the haters flossin’ traitors to vapors while I be makin’ that paper if I want ya I’ll take ya, circumvent your equator There’s nobody can save ya, my shit is greater and greater I’ve become the Creator “Up

demented drug dealer in a movie about street racing. He’d always been popular with the females but this was a whole different level, bitches lined up like job applicants arguing over who got to give him a blow job first. Cal

My brain is in pain with none of the gain what’s happening in my mind I can’t quantify or justify my lifestyle eatin’ me alive like Bug on a chicken thigh, my sex drive in a nose dive off the high board, don’t need the awards I’m prerecorded, exploited, I need to be Sigmund Freuded Bobby

I got to stop roamin’, be a pigeon goin’ homin’ back to Mississippi, make some homemade chili while I be chillin’ with my kinfolk I ain’t seen since I was an egg yolk in my daddy’s egg sack, I can’t see, I can’t feel, my world is going black. Bobby

Look at him. There’s no more chance he’ll make a decent record than Bug turning down a Family Meal at Popeye’s.” Cal

These days, Cal would no more go to a club than he would a rodeo. The deafening music, the blinding strobes, the drunk rowdy crowd waving their arms and woo-hooing like it was enjoyable being squeezed into a dance floor like Pringles and paying sixteen dollars for a cocktail. And a rap star couldn’t relax in public. You had to be cool every damn minute in case somebody took a video of you picking your nose that would be on YouTube until the end of time; standing there talking shit with a bitter-ass cigar in your mouth and holding a bottle of Gran Patrón by the neck like it wasn’t no thang or laughing with the fellas like only an insider would get the joke, turning smooth for the ladies, every line said a thousand times before. “I’ve

picked this up at Skip’s place,” the kid said. He showed Bobby a bullet. It looked like a regular .45-caliber round but the bullet was blunter. “This is a multiple-impact round. When you fire the gun, the bullet breaks into three fragments held together with strings of Kevlar. The fragments come at you spinning like a South American bolo and they hit with a fourteen-inch spread. In other words, I could shoot at you, miss by thirteen inches, and still blow your brains out. Now I don’t know if that verifies Skip as a hit man but it verifies him as something.” Bobby looked like he’d opened his safe and found a head of cabbage. Hegan turned away to hide his smile. “Any questions?” the short guy said. The kid lifted his head. “Something’s burning.” Earlier

Now it’s hard to make out here but your dog has some dewlap, wrinkling on the forehead, the legs are a little long and the tail’s got a curve in it.

At the next table, a woman wearing three cardigans was gurgling Sprite vapor through a straw. “You

Look, when we get there let me handle things, okay?” Isaiah said. “This is what I do.” “I know you got the detective part down,” Dodson said, “but customer relations at this level ain’t the same as finding somebody’s lost dog. You need diplomacy, finesse, and salesmanship. Qualities your surly unpleasant ass is sadly lacking. You lucky you got skills, son, ’cause if you had to survive on your personality you’d be working at the morgue with dead people.” Cal’s

The battering ram took the door out no problem. The siren was as loud as Pet City’s but the burglars wore noise-suppression headphones like the pit crews at NASCAR. They didn’t block the sound out completely but at least your head didn’t explode. Isaiah was overanxious but it was an easier score. All the Virgin Remy extensions were on the same set of shelves and he’d replaced the trash bags with collapsible hampers. They were lightweight and stayed open by themselves and you could load them with two hands. “Four

You can blame your teenagers for that,” Harry said. “It’s Murphy’s other law. Anything that involves a teenager will be a goddamn horror show.

oh Lord have mercy, that can’t be right. Monkey diapers? Monkey diapers? You got a monkey wearing diapers you went to the wrong delivery room.” They

Nouvelle-Orléans absinthe,

He remembered what Marcus said, to take the initiative, dictate the action, not let his emotions call the shots.

Dodson was sitting in a metal folding chair on the auditorium stage at Carver Middle School. He vaguely remembered being a student here, although calling him a student was a stretch. His attendance was so bad his history teacher said he should wear a visitor’s badge.

Dodson looked saddened, as if Mr. Ingram had been stricken with some rare disease. “It’s a hustler’s world, son,” Dodson said, “and if you ain’t doing the hustlin’? Somebody’s hustlin’ you.” The

There was an older guy in the photos on the bookshelf who was probably Isaiah’s brother, who was most likely dead and that was no doubt the reason Isaiah was so messed up. His face was either blank as Dodson’s math assignment or his eyes were tight and his jaw hard-set like he was about to smack somebody.

And did you see that gun? It had an extra-long barrel. The Glock the cops carry has a seven-inch barrel. The one on the man’s gun was at least nine, had to be custom-made. And it was shaped like a tube, what they call a bull barrel. You see them on target guns made for accuracy.

My name is Isaiah,” Isaiah said. Bug held his meaty paw in the shape of a handgun, shooting it for emphasis. “Well, I’m gonna tell you straight up,” he said. “You might be something in Long Beach but you ain’t shit up in here. Get disrespectful and your shit is over, you feel me? Cal’s my nigga. You fuck this up and oh my GOD I’ll put a hurtin’ on you.” Isaiah looked at him like he’d come to the door selling five-dollar candy bars you could buy at the store for a dollar. He hated threats. Some asshole like Bug demanding respect as if bullying was a quality to admire like wisdom or kindness. “What?

This is Friday night,” Anthony said. The time code said 10:47. Cal came out of a bedroom and moved down the hall. He walked slowly with his feet close to the floor, almost gliding. In the hooded robe and aviators he looked like the Fly turned monk on his way to evening prayers. The house felt deserted, like people had escaped. “I

Isaiah lifted his head. “Somebody’s here.” They stepped behind the door as a sleepy-eyed buck-naked white girl clumped past in the hall, her booty like a backpack that had slipped down too low. “Bug?” she said. They left while she was in the bathroom. Back

Black the Knife, down without a fight A termite, a flea bite, Got stage fright, no right to life Boy’s an absentee, a detainee, no number on his caller ID Nobody home at the addressee His time is passed, miscast, outta gas, second class In foreclosure, never sober, I’m in clover, I’m taking over. “Makes

Isaiah’s cell buzzed. He checked the number and hesitated. Some people were like the oldies you hear on the radio, evoking another time, another place, and who you were back then. The sound of Dodson’s voice and the rhythm of his speech stirred up a stew of memories burned black at the bottom of his heart. The last time they’d spoken was at Mozique’s funeral but it took a day or two before the burnt taste was out of his mouth. “Who

You lucky you got skills, son, ’cause if you had to survive on your personality you’d be working at the morgue with dead people.

As the choir went by, he saw a girl who made him blink a couple of times. Head erect, a posture like she knew who she was, a passionate face and you knew there was a body underneath that robe. She moved through the light from the stained-glass windows, now gold, no red, now blue, like heaven's police car was pulling her over for being too fine. (178)

What Mariah Carey should be telling them is to follow their abilities and make a dream out of what God gave them.