"Empire Liquor Mart (9127 S. Figueroa St.)"

Empire Liquor Mart (9127 S. Figueroa St.) is a song by Gabriel Kahane from his 2014 album, The Ambassador'. It was the fifth track featured on the album, and it is a part of Jay Fowler's playlist. You can listen to it here.

Lyrics
When the black and whites arrive I am lifeless on the floor, Crumpled dollars in my hand In my hand, in my hand.

The lady in the fishing vest Has dropped the gun. Who wears a fishing vest When they’re working at a liquor store?

I float up to the corner, Just above the ice cream and the frozen food. I perch beside the surveillance Camera...

Only days after the trial You could feel the tension rise In the street and in the rhythm Of despair, of despair.

It was war after a while In each neighbor’s tired eyes. There was nothing to persuade them To stand down, to stand down.

I float higher and higher, Friendly with the clouds That cover Southland...

I watch the tender skyline Dancing, oh the terror— On the long night, On the long fight, Blood, glass, burnt hair.

These angry armies quick ad- vancing, in position: On the rooftops, In the culverts, Stores are sacked while no one’s there.

Now two kinds of light From fires and fixtures They fill the sky—

It was never so bright When I was young, I was Too young to die.

On TV sets, in houses Effortlessly done in fancy colors, All the righteous, All the newsmen Speak of end times.

Why should they give a fuck some Angry little black girl took a bullet? Lord have mercy, Lord have mercy On the ones who’ve done the crimes.

Now two kinds of light From fires and fixtures They fill the sky—

It was never so bright When I was young, I was Too young to die.

If I float even even higher, Pattern and procession are uncovered: Flood and fire, Flood and earthquake Keep folks unmoored.

And the occasional celebrity car chase Woo woo woo woo! Just to keep God From getting bored.

Now two kinds of light From fires and fixtures They fill the sky—

It was never so bright When I was young, I was Too young to die.

When my Grandma was a young woman, East St. Louis, She thought the town was No good to us.

She took a Greyhound Just as far as it could take her, Felt her maker in the waves— You know, how God moves through us.

I was six years old when we followed, My mother was twenty-two. The light was magic, The light was true.

She thought we’d moved moved beyond a sharecropper’s debt, But we were just a pawn In the accuser’s bet.

Nobody reads from the Book of Job At the church where me and my grandma go. Nobody sees the trouble I know, But I know that trouble’s gonna find me.

Three years later on a Thanksgiving, The light turned bitter; My grandmother didn’t know what hit her.

We got a chill From the cold white sun, Momma found herself staring At the barrel of a gun.

That weren’t enough, My uncle died too— Shot through the chest Back in East St. Louis,

So one fine day, My grandma lost two, Took me in her arms, said, it’s just me and you.

Nobody reads from the Book of Job At the church where me and my grandma go. Nobody sees the trouble I know, But I know that trouble’s gonna find me.

So when I say that my un- timely death was Something certain,

What I mean is that these tragedies are a kind of a family tradition.

So when I walk into the Liquor store that morning, bright and angry, In a daydream Of a boyfriend I was fifteen,

Pick up a bottle of orange juice And put it in to my backpack, Head toward the counter with dollar bills And she accuse me of stealing that— She pull my sweater And so I hit her, Put down the bottle Don’t want no trouble—

Now two kinds of light From fires and fixtures They fill the sky—

It was never so bright When I was young, I was Too young to die.

I suppose it’s no surprise To find myself about to die.

But how long that silver moment from the bullet to the floor.

That right there was a lifetime...