crackadawn

seriously. it's after 3 o'clock in the morning. I should be in that cloud bed. you know. the one with the feathers and the down. the one with the heavy comforters and the birch fiber sheets. But i ain't. Cracka's up late, getting the pickchas on deck. It's not a lot, but it's what i saw... East Village, down to Piano's. Redhook, down to the shore. Flatiron for the musicfreedom jam with Rep Ball. Because you know, that's how i do.

I will tell you this though. I was waiting for that B77 bus outside the smith and ninth stop like i do sometimes, and the bus just plain wasn't coming. Song after song after song, maybe 4 cigarettes kind of waiting right? And so that's what i'm doing, listening, smoking and waiting. Taxi comes by. Another one comes by. Taxis coming in the god damned windows, and i decide i'll look at the bus schedule, because my word, there don't seem to be one.

and i see it's at least 10 minutes away if it's on time, so i start walking. I'm listening to Queens of the Stone Age, and i'm taking pictures while i walk. I see this sort of Faux Art Stencil, where somebody took one of them smelly car trees, and spray painted over it on a wall, so i kneel down to take a picture of it. I'm sure i've taken a picture of it before, but i hadn't taken one earlier today, so that makes it new and interesting. I'd never taken a photo of it after the Rep Ball show before, so it's a moment that has nothing to do with the ho-hum of having seen it before. So i kneel down like i said to take the picture, and then i poke the camera back into my pocket.

No sooner than it's in there, in the ol' pocket i mean, when the boys in blue, New York's Finest roll up in their V8 sedan. I see the guy motioning to me in the window there from the passenger side, but to be honest, the music is just too loud to even imagine what his lips are saying, so i tell him with index finger sign language, to hang on, i've got to press pause.

He wants to know what i'm doing. So you know the thing is, i like people to know. You know, if you see something, say something, and all that. So, i showed him what i was doing. And he wanted to know all about my website, so i'm leaning in the window like a god damned car hop, except with no rollerskates and no cheeseburgers, and i'm telling him all about it. I mean why not? he seems interested enough...

After a while he figures i'm the real McCoy and off he and his partner go into Liberty Heights, or whatever you call that area between smith and 9th and redhook, and i get to carry on with my walk.

Actually, i just chatted with them in hopes it would kill enough time that the bus would come, but you know how it is. It Didn't.

So then, i'm walking through the projects, which is something i really like to do when it's after 1 in the morning on a weeknight and i'm listening to Queens of the Stone Age, and you know, i have all my cameras and stuff and more than a couple of ones in the wallet. it's always so reassuring to know how safe it is where you live, so there i am, and there's a guy walking along too, and he's saying something, but i really can't hear him, and of course i really don't want to, but there he is, and every now and again he gestures with his arms and stuff, so finally i say, "you know man, hang on. my headphones are just too loud to hear what you're saying, you know?"

and i reached into the jacket to press Pause again.

turns out he needs $2 so he can buy some milk for his newborn daughter, Nubia, which he informs me is a name representative of where he's from. And i tell him, i've just come from seeing Representative Ball. (which is basically the same thing, because at the moment, that's where i'm from, you see how i mean?)

Well. he doesn't seem to get it, and though i've got a couple of ones in there, i give him a 5, and let him see that there's plenty more where that came from, and put the wallet away, while sliding him the fiver and telling him he could maybe buy some paper towels too, because kids are always spilling shit.

I asked him if he smoked the hootch too, and he got all shady, like i was the fuzz, and he says he likes to smoke it sometimes, but you know, he can't afford it, what with the kid and all, and being the kind hearted soul that i am, i couldn't resist the opportunity to stoke him up with the sack i had brought to the show. He got extra shady, looking all around, you know, again, like i'm the fuzz, but i ain't the fuzz. i mean, think about it. So he stuffs the sack in his drawers and cuts down an alley way. I carry on home. Happy to give the guy a little dough and some hootchie dootchie, because that's how new york works. (need a penny take a penny and all that sort of malarky)

In the end i get home, and i know i've gotta sleep, but i wanna dump this camera too. Get the pix off if you catch my drift, and while i'm at it, i guess i should post them, and so it's one thing leads to another, and here we are.

Enjoy.

oh. The Stroke. That's actually a commentary about you know, life in the city. Folks are always telling you they gotta have it. You. Your talent. Your skill set. But when it comes time to put up or shut up, they always give you the stroke.

i got one today. Well, yesterday now, but a stroke's a stroke's a stroke. That's what i always say. More on that another time.

dTown | listening to Grooverider