Every Winter, round the time it get cold and stay cold, when snow make itself at home on the ground, I think of them good days. We were still together then, that Winter, in our one bedroom on 122nd. I was still hustling then, nothing too dirty, but nothing too clean neither. I was making paper wasn't I? Yeah, sometimes we fought. She didn't like me hanging around with who I was hanging around with. Said they was doing no good. Said they was headed for trouble and If I wasn't careful I'd go down with them. Shit, I'm from Harlem, that's just who I know.

There's a lot to remember but mostly I remember them cold Winter days we'd stay inside. Me lying around in bed, she'd be at the piano; playing, singing. Good days them days.

Oh shit I ain't even mention the piano yet. One day driving through Brooklyn I come across this pretty little upright joint and copped it right on the spot for twenty three hundred. Didn't even blink. No reason for a man to be hustling if he ain't putting it down for his boo. She happy, I'm happy. Back then, them days with the piano, we were good.

Just yesterday I was passing through Morningside Park on the way to see my man, and I felt it all come back to me, all them old Winter days they came to me right then in that one moment, and like a cold ass wind that sneak up on you from around the corner it took my breath, maybe even made my eyes water. I still get it like that a little bit every Winter but it's worst when I'm walking through Morningside Park and there's snow on the ground and I'm walking up them stairs and I'm breathing fog and I can't do anything to change anything.