out of context, this scenario could lead to me dead in a ditch in jersey...
(my night last night)
bad back, in much pain.
drink brooklyn lager and eat a cheeseburger.
strike up a conversation with a friendly and intelligent hispanic man.
leave with him to meet his crew, consisting of two other hispanics and one huge black dood (all of which are incredibly cool and nice to me), and go to a club in jersey.
ride packed in a nice nice beamer with 4 thugs and no leg room from brooklyn to jersey.
get to the club. they tell me "do right"** to get in with my chuck taylors on.
we walk up to the door and get turned away cos two of the thugs had Timberlands on.
"No Tim's!" exclaims the oversized bouncer.
i'm the only white person for 5 miles.
there's cops all around the outside, an altercation starts, but is doused out quickly as we leave.
we drive to queens, and go to a club in astoria.
there's lots of white girls, making out with each other.
in the center of this wet dream visualized is a fat man in his late 40's with a mustache.
his mustache looked like one of those black pocket combs glued to an upper lip.
it was not a good mustache, but then no mustache is a good mustache.
the word mustache has just come up way too many times.
the doods i'm with are whipping out rolls of 20's, and buying drinks.
i didn't spend a penny after i left life cafe.
the club starts to get a little beat, so we leave and drive back to brooklyn.
i take a piss in a parking lot after nearly pissing myself in the back of this really nice beamer, which is something i would liek to not do.
get dropped off around 3ish, exchange numbers with my new thugged out friends, and climb to my rooftop for a smoke.
go to bed, wake up at 830ish, and wish i could call in sick.
alas here i am at work, alive, still sore with back pain, and a bit hungover.
lesson of the day. don't go to jersey with 4 thugs from bushwick you just met on a work night.
** do right: tip the bouncer at the door.
bad back, in much pain.
drink brooklyn lager and eat a cheeseburger.
strike up a conversation with a friendly and intelligent hispanic man.
leave with him to meet his crew, consisting of two other hispanics and one huge black dood (all of which are incredibly cool and nice to me), and go to a club in jersey.
ride packed in a nice nice beamer with 4 thugs and no leg room from brooklyn to jersey.
get to the club. they tell me "do right"** to get in with my chuck taylors on.
we walk up to the door and get turned away cos two of the thugs had Timberlands on.
"No Tim's!" exclaims the oversized bouncer.
i'm the only white person for 5 miles.
there's cops all around the outside, an altercation starts, but is doused out quickly as we leave.
we drive to queens, and go to a club in astoria.
there's lots of white girls, making out with each other.
in the center of this wet dream visualized is a fat man in his late 40's with a mustache.
his mustache looked like one of those black pocket combs glued to an upper lip.
it was not a good mustache, but then no mustache is a good mustache.
the word mustache has just come up way too many times.
the doods i'm with are whipping out rolls of 20's, and buying drinks.
i didn't spend a penny after i left life cafe.
the club starts to get a little beat, so we leave and drive back to brooklyn.
i take a piss in a parking lot after nearly pissing myself in the back of this really nice beamer, which is something i would liek to not do.
get dropped off around 3ish, exchange numbers with my new thugged out friends, and climb to my rooftop for a smoke.
go to bed, wake up at 830ish, and wish i could call in sick.
alas here i am at work, alive, still sore with back pain, and a bit hungover.
lesson of the day. don't go to jersey with 4 thugs from bushwick you just met on a work night.
** do right: tip the bouncer at the door.