Chin Out to my Peeps, Part One.

My peeps know who they are, but I tend to forget. It's useful to name names, make lists. So they can remember about each other too.
Take my peeps in NYC for example:

There's Marco.
Dapper as a socialite and owner of real estate and dogs. Master of self-re-invention and fearless pioneer.
You are my sister and I love you. I hope all of your dreams come true.

There's Joe.
My chocolate friend. He's smarter than me and sports a six-pack. He's moody and funny and thinks I'm funny. Or funny looking.

There's Troy.
He's mad (for real) but nobody knows. He's a pixie, he can do no wrong. Still proud of his Detroit roots after all this time. His bad taste is legendary.

There's Clinton.
He's a saint, he's an angel. And a genius at handling animation software, scissors or hair dye. Major Karaoke queen, and in fact he could pass for asian.