Ain’t no sunshine where the refinery smoke blows down Vernon way. Ain’t no
cable TV coverage when a poor guy goes to jail, and nobody asks to appear by telephone. It’s too long a ride from 124th Street to Beverly Hills, and the playgrounds you pass on the way ain’t safe. You never arrive, but if you did, they’d just want you to clean up the mess, and get back on the 28 bus home. Ain’t no pre-cut loops on the Green line—you have to cut your own.