Monday, February 07, 2005

cast me as a criminal
I was round Thomas' tonight working on our plan for financial and lifestyle liberation. He kicked me out about 2245h with some lame excuse about work tomorrow and stuff, so I left and trundled my way back along his street down to the boulevard. The four laned expanse was almost empty of traffic as I approached, and the shutters were being closed at the windows of the grandiose buildings lining it 5 floors high on both sides.

Across the street I had to make a choice of walking down the safe route or into the 'hood surrounding Place Arnaud Bernard. I chose the risky option just so I could see what was going on down there at this time of night. Sure enough there wasn't very much, although a couple of guys crossed into the street about 5 metres ahead of me at one point.

Their talk was in French but loaded with slang I don't understand seeing as I don't go out of my way to learn how to talk like a wannabe gangster. The tone was unmistakeable though, completely tough-nut, you know like, "and then I told her, bitch, you don't wanna be fuckin with me - I'm one scary mutthafukka!".

He clearly felt the need to prove what a bad boy he was because he turned around from his mate and asked me for a light. I said no, of course. He responded by reaching into his pocket and pulling out his own light, then sparking up a big fat spliff. He made sure to take some big deep puffs and blow then over into my path where I would walk through them, and I suppose, notice that this one bad street dood was (gasp!) smoking illegal drugs.

As he and his now silent mate carried on walking up the street he, well, I would say he 'launched' into a rap, but what with his rhyming and rapping skills being a bit sparse, it was more like a limp. Although I remember that he was inventive enough to stretch the accent on 'spliff', emphasising the french ee sound. Much better that way to rhyme with 'poleece'.

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