I was watching Ali on HBO last night (forgot which one, it was digital). As I was watching, there was a scene right after Ali beat the snot outta Sonny Liston. They showed someone's hotel room, where Malcolm X, Ali, Sam Cooke and Jim Brown all were kickin it. And here came the thought:
You will not see that kind of diversified black talent like that in one room again.
Not really on some 'kick it' type shit.
Too much negro jealousy....
I gotta get this all out before I explode...
Sunday on the good ole bus, I saw the girl who I thought looked like Black Jesus, who used to be fat, but upon closer inspection it turned out to be a dude with man-boobs, or maybe a female with a hormone problem.
Satruday, I was waiting in the car for my aunt to get done at the bank, and someone comes by selling knock-off cologne, which was cool, because I need a bottle. So, in an effort of trying something new, I get a knock-off bottle of this Japanese import called Issey Miyake. It smells ok and and all, so I am like, cool.
This brings us to last night. I am walking home when someone pulls up in an old cutlass and says wassup. Any one who knows anything about city life knows that people rolling up in old cutlasses is not a good thing, and this time was no different. I get to the other side, and I see a female in the driver's seat with a Biker Bum. She gets out and is like:
"so wassup?"
"nothin"
"you that bus driver ain't you?"
"nah, that aint me"
"why u lyin?" a chuckle followed
"nah, I don't drive a bus"
"oh, well when we gone kick it?"
"I dunno, I be around the way"
Now, had this woman not been a giant hoodrat, I woulda been happy. But then she says, gimmie some love, and reaches up for a hug, so to avoid bullshit I comply, only to have her say
"damn u smell good"
I will not wear this cologne again.
I need to move. Like Yesterday.
Not to mention my cousin's mama whom I'm staying with changes her tune about everything with the weather and I cannot really work in peace, which has resulted in a Failing grade on my first math exam.
But, on a better note, I am alive.
*whew*
There is a lot of subcultures here in LA. One of them is the Biker Bums.
It's a collection of 40-50-60 year old men on bikes. Not Harleys or Yamahas. But Schwinns. Their uniform usually involves some sort of camoflauge with some sort of sweats.
I need a digital camera so you all can see this... people think I be lyin...