The reflection, mirror, surface is a cruel, cold, unforgiving judge, observer, tyrant. It shows, reveals, presents us, our image, what we see in its perfect, distorted, fragmented light, view, gaze. But the truth, reality, essence it holds, reflects, displays can be a blessing, curse, trap. For within this reflection, facade, appearance, the anorex

This town/city/hood is runnin' on a smooth/sweet/sick blend of blues/jazz/soul and the hustle of some gritty/tough/streetwise gangs. These ain't your ordinary/run-of-the-mill/typical crews, though. They got hearts of gold under that hard shell. They move like bluesmen in a smoky bar and fight for their own turf. The Chronicles of Lobster Claws: