During my year in the the Bronx, I saw alot of literature riding up and down the 5 and 2 trains. Not that I'm a book snob. Alot of the books people read revolved around ghetto life and trifling affairs. Hey, "art imitates life imitates art", right? This book, however, takes the cake. I saw one woman reading it on the train, and then another a few days after. Shit, with all my daddy affairs lately I might as well be Wifey myself. Cuz, as onw of the book jackets read, "There are many wives, but only one Wifey". Oh shoot.
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