March 27, 2006
The year was nineteen ninety somethin'. It was early 90's anyway and it was a balmy Friday night on the south end of Fla., a gangster-ass little city by the bay, some of u may have heard of, named MIAMI. We called it the bottom. There was a heavy coast line breeze that night and the traffic on ocean ave was bumper to bumper. We were packed in on the flatbed of a red late 80's pick up truck. It was me, Jokes, J. Bishop, and the forgotten Beatle Stuey Sutcliffe. Actually, it wasn't Stuey-- it was Nova, but it may as well have been Harrison Ford for all it matters now; he's since run off and married a rich girl. They live in daddy's Coconut Grove Estate, play croquette, and spend their days sunning on daddy's yacht. Good shit.
We were rolling around on the now famous Southbeach, cruising the strip, smoking weed, drinking and rattling aerosol cans. Truth b told, two of us hadn't gotten into smoking mary jane yet in those dayz, but this is my version of the shit, so...Beaneath us, half-empty spraycans, backpacks fulla' new freshly stolen spraycans (Kmart-- IN THE DAYS BEFORE THEY BEGAN LOCKING THE SPRAYPAINT IN GLASS CASES--- which is likely due 2 us or our associates @ that time), stems and seeds, and a couple of ratty porno mags. The truck was shakey, over-bassy music pumping- Clay D er some shit, and beautiful women, some even wearing clothing, everywhere. Nova was always kind of the quiet one. Jokes on the other hand, Cuban like me, but actually knowledgeable-- and about shit that isn't necessarily untrue--he was passionately relaying an idea to J. about a flick he wanted 2 make when he went away 2 film school. It was about a dirt merchant who had a third, possibly a fourth nipple, a fetish for goats and an extreme vaudeville appeal 2 his Homestead ranch which was forever burdened by the everlooming and impending foreclosure notices. One day he stumbles very awkwardly across a rap battle in the middle of a park in Cutler Ridge. Two young males are mowing each other down rhyming insults and a crowd cheering them on. the merchant becomes convinced that rap will save his farm. Anyway, I don't recall the rest, and not 2 spoil it 4 all of Jokes' fans but i think i remember it ending with a lot of hot chicks in bikinis and something having 2 do with new clothes and sneakers. J. nodded emphatically agreeing with Jokes and every so often adding his own ideas and suggestions. For example, J. felt that the movie was missing some kind of collossal heist-- a major robbery-- and felt perhaps, one or more of the characters should have english accents.
Nova had been complaining throughout the night about his wimpy feet and his pussy stomach. Mostly, tho, it was his girl-like stomach, weak and shakey, that bothered him. His face was a pale unholy shade of sky blue. Jokes turned away from J. to ask, "Hey, have u eatten anything today?" I scoffed. "Of course. I eat constantly." J. was doodling something over in the corner on a rusted spiral, utilizing the brief spots of street light as we rode. "Not YOU," Jokes said, "Nova...he looks like he got stuck and been bleeding for the past three hours." He did look like shit, but I was famished.
"Yeah, he's a mess. Look, I'm starving. is Miami Subs still open?" J. was shaking his head; he glanced up from his notes. "Does it have 2 be Homestead? ...and why does he need a 3rd and possibly 4th nip, dawg? the nipple thing is pointless." Jokes jumped up almost 2 suddenly. "What?! Are u fuckin' nuts? the nipple thing is an explosive metaphor. get it? the goat fetish, the nipples. we could probably do MORE nipples..6 or 8!"
J. shrugged and kept writing. Jokes leaned back and took a swig of punch. Nova grasped for his tummy, lightly howling like a bitch in heat. "Pull over and get Nova a sandwich er somethin, Franky. He's starting 2 annoy us... and that's usually Gabe's job. Pull over Franky."
The truck slowly creeped to a halt. Behind the wheel, Fat Frank, older than the rest of us, he was even slower coming out of his coma and only then noticed that girl Michelle fiddling with his infantile-esque little pecker (I'm not sure if her name was actually Michelle, but all the girls from junior high, in my mind, have been clumped into one and because of the name's popularity amongst young women who happen 2 be slutty and/or jappy, that one is MICHELLE). Suddenly, from one of the cars in front of us, out comes CASE ONE. He flings an empty Krylon at Fat Fuck-- I mean Frank's windshield and breaks up laughing hysterically like a hyena. "U fat bitch, where's my money?" Frank pulled swiftly up 2 Case then. Nova shifted around uncomfortably and blue-green at the gills. "Eat a boatload of my shit, Manderbach. that's all u get from me" Case chortled and jumped back in the car with Van Shun and Earl Palmer, before Fatass could run him over.
Jokes furiously continued his rant about nipples and goats and J. just nodded and every now and then added his 2 cents until the story became a medieval heist movie complete with ancient aztec gold and pirates, but u know. thugged out and urban. I was enjoying a BLT, HOLD THE LETTUCE AND TOMATO AND ADD SOME HEAD AND A BUNCH OF FUCKING CHEESES. Nova refused 2 get anything when we stopped for food. He was just sitting whining. the chicks we picked up in the drive thru were rubbing on J. and Jokes' nuts. One eased towards me, her blowse astray. I continued on the BLT, very nonchalantly stroked @ a bit of bread from between the teeth, and reached down her shirt for a squeeze off, titty tug. She roared like a happy little drunken duck. After all, it wasn't every night that normal around the way chicks like that got 2 rub nuggets with the likes of local graf and hip hop's elite. Not every night, but pretty much every weekend, but hey, that's miami. u got a little fame, u get a lot of ass. It's like that everywhere now, thank god...or some of us would have 2 grow personalities. So, here we are, future film makers, artists, actors, musicians, writers,..just about 2 wet our willies and get er done. I remember standing up shifty, shouting somethin 2 the effect of "D.F.S. crew for life!" I thought I was 2pac in Juice 4 a minute but my body knew the truth. it did some awful, awkward jerking like some off beat, tangley new age dance moves just before plumetting me 2 the flatbed canvas face-first 2 eat the shit end of a mild concussion. Then, Nova threw up all over everybody.
We were 13 and we had our whole lives ahead of us. ~Gabe Alberro
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