Went to jail and shared a cell with a 25 to lifer.
Stayed at my grandma house with 25 bibles,
Stayed at the trap house with like 25 rifles.
My friend Maggie invited me out to a birthday party at Commodore. The last time Maggie invited me out to a bar a guy pulled my hair because I told him to “relax” and punctuated it with “Amigo”. I’m starting to think Maggie is bad luck.
I ended up leaving the bar around 2am and walked north to my apartment in Greenpoint. I was walking along Union at North 12 when three kids on BMX bikes rode by, but not without the last one pushing me as he rode past me on the sidewalk. He looked behind as he rode past and we locked eyes. He yelled something about how he got me. I was pissed.
But first I had to piss. I relieved myself at a tree near the running track and as I did, I stepped on a Corona bottle. I saw this as a sign above, “Show these motherfuckers!” I zipped myself up and grabbed the bottle.
I carried the bottle at my side as I crossed the track onto the dewy grass. I could hear the teenagers on the skate park ahead of me. My first thoughts were to break the bottle off on the fence and go all crazy and wave the bottle at the kids, teach them a lesson. Don’t fuck with random white dudes because you might just run into a crazy one, like me!
But as I crossed onto the other end of the track I lost some of my courage. But I didn’t lose it all, or maybe I did. I approached the skate park and stood on the empty street. The kids were riding and bullshitting on the cement park. That pissed me off again, fucking having fun and shit. I hoisted the bottle in my hand and chucked it over some trees.
I didn’t wait for it to land as I sprinted down Lorimer. I could hear the crash of the bottle and them yelling behind me. The park was long, longer than I had remembered. I quickly realized I didn’t have time to make it out of the dark abandoned park so I quickly ducked into the playground filled with swings and slides. I couldn’t find the other exit. I had my Docs on so climbing the fence would be tough with my wide boots.
Fuck. A sense of dread enveloped me. This was it. This was how I was going to go out. I could see the headlines in the Brooklyn Vegan, “Local Hipster Doofus Hospitalized By Gang of Five Footers”. I could hear my Dad’s voice in my head, “Son, you need to get insurance. If anything happens to you it will bankrupt me and your mom.” I wondered if I had time to signup for health insurance on my iPhone while I hid behind the monkey bars? I hoped they would use this in my obituary.
I saw the kids peering through the fence for me, I froze, hoping they would give up the chase and go back to the skate park. They didn’t. Instead they rode into the jungle gym, and were mere feet from me. One of them said, “He had a striped shirt on.” I looked down at my jean jacket and wondered if I could just walk past them and pretend that I wasn’t their man. I doubted it.
It didn’t matter anyways because they had spotted me, “There he is!” one of them shouted. I walked out, my hands at my sides my head on a swivel like my youth basketball coach had always taught me. They were in front of me in a half circle. I could have taken them on one on one, but the three of them I doubted it. I wasn’t an experienced fighter, and the numbers were against me. “You throwing bottles faggot.” I thought about telling him to “Relax, Amigo.” But that didn’t really work the last time. So I just said, “You pushed me.” He didn’t like that either, as he picked up his BMX bike and flung it at me.
Little known fact, side stepping a flying BMX bike is actually pretty easy. The bike crashed to the pavement with a bang, distracting them. I decided this was my chance. I took off.
I ran as fast I could to the corner of Lorimer and Driggs and made a hard right down Driggs. I could see the sign of Matchless, a bar, on the corner. If I could just make it to the bar, I knew they couldn’t follow me in there. I made it to the door and stepped in quickly. I sat at the bar from a seat where I could keep an eye on the door. I ordered a beer with my eyes on the door the whole time. Fucking punks, not even 21, I tried to reassure myself that they wouldn’t try to come in. If they did I would just yell on the top of my lungs, “Minors! Minors! Kick them out!” It was fail proof.
I drank the beer slowly and by the time I finished it, it was warm and the bar was empty. I didn’t see any sign of the BMX gang circling outside. I figured it was safe. I stepped outside and scanned the streets, no sign of them. I walked (backwards) up Manhattan Ave towards my apartment.
I made it home and with the click of the lock behind me I felt a sense of relief for the first time since my run in. The teenage BMX 3 could no longer harm me. Relax. Amigos.