My phone was ringing off the hook on battle day. Every NSR, every hip cat from school (that wasn’t afraid of the diversity at Chicagoland Rink) was hitting me up; some of them just to make sure the battle was still on and others needed directions to the place. Apparently word had traveled around the whole school that we NSR’s were battling some crew from “the city.”
After I paced around my house and turned on and off the TV like a hundred times that day, while waiting for 8pm to come, the doorbell finally rang. I told my P’s, “See ya later!”
Dad yelled back, “Be home by midnight.”
I yelled back, “Bruiser is dropping off six of us at the end of the night, so I might be a couple of minutes late,” I said as I closed the door shut before I could even hear my P’s response. But they didn’t worry about me too much when I was hanging out with Bruiser anyway, on account they knew, I knew him from church.
I hopped in the Stang and Bruiser said, “Sup Mr. Schlernious incorporated. (That’s how I had answered my phone all day that day) Are you ready? - What’s up with the extra pair of shoes?”
I told Bruiser what the dilly o was about the shoes and such, which kind of worried him but he didn’t say anything at first. You see, Bruiser knew that sometimes I could rock a bunch of head spins and sometimes I couldn’t. I’m not so sure that Bruiser believed in the power of Boogie Bobs shoes in the same way that I did because he eventually said, “Well dude, you should probably wear the shoes that you always wear when you’re breakin’ since you’re used to them. You don’t want to screw yourself up, is all I’m saying. It’s not what’s in the shoes; it’s what’s between your ears that counts,” he said stoically with tight lips.
“But I’ve also got confidence between my pants pockets,” I told him while trying to seem relaxed but really Bruiser had started to make me a little nervous. I had convinced myself that Bobs’ shoes would make up the difference, but now I was starting to worry that Bobs shoes were going to throw off my balance, since I wasn’t used to them.
We pulled up at Blazin's crib and saw him pacing around his garage and checking out his shoes with each stride; he looked nervous; he always looked nervous but that was just the way his face looked.
Blazin' entered the car with concern on his mug. On our way to pick up Miguel and Fandango, Blazin' told us, “Did you hear about Binny from school?”
“No, wazup?” We both said.
Blazin' in his most seriously toned voice said, “Dude, he was at a keg party last night at Alicia Vandykes house, hundreds of people were there. I guess he drank tons of shots of alcohol …well I didn’t really hear how much he really drank but … He died of an overdose … It was supposedly his first time even drinking, at least that was what his best friend Johnny had said, but now, he’s gone … Dead.”
“That’s why I don’t mess with any of that Bull Shee-ott! If you do illegal drugs or slam too many drinks - you can die. Not always, but I don’t want to spin that roulette wheel, Eff that,” I said.
Then Blazin, who was clearly shaken asked with a question in his voice,” But some of the dudes at the party were just smoking pot and cigarettes and that’s okay, right?”
“It’s okay if you want to get tar into your lungs and burn your mouth, throat, and lungs while slowly and insidiously, killing yourself day by day with carcinogens and then BAMM … one day you’re dead! BAMM just like that,” I said, as I thought about Boogie Bob laying there in the hospital room. But I was also in that moment thinking about the nurses at the hospital who were smoking cigarettes just outside of the hospital when I had left that day wearing the hospital scrubs and stuff. And I thought about that chump Randal VanderNorth and his bull shee-ott too – I had really grown to despise second hand devil wings in case you couldn’t tell.
It was funny though, I was actually trying to rile up Brock -I had even screamed the word, “Bamm” just for the effect of it. Just to mess with him. But really I was just mad that people who smoked were increasing their chances of getting cancer, yet someone like Boogie Bob was trying to get rid of his cancer. The worst part of it all was that Bob had told me that he had never did drugs or smoked. It didn’t seem fair.
Anyway, Blazin' winced, “Enough with the Bamm dude.” I could tell he was still freaking out a bit about Binnys’ demise.
This made me want to continue though, just so he’d remember and maybe he’d stay away from all of that crap, “It just sneaks up on you without you even knowing it and then one day - Bamm.” I had whispered. I was whispering in this crazy ass annoying voice; like a “cookie monster” voice, only more scary. I had way too much fun doing it, “… First you’ll get emphysema … and next you’re on a ventilator,“ then I made these ventilator noises with my mouth, “Psshhhch … Psshhhch… and then one day you’re DEAD,” I yelled like a monster, “because you can’t breathe anymore … all because you smoked.”
Bruiser interjected, “Alright enough of the grim Effing reaper Shiznit gents! You all got a battle to focus on. Now Focus!”
We arrived at Miguel 2 Tuff’s and Fandango’s crib and waited outside to see if they’d notice that we had pulled up. Nobody wanted to get outside in the cold if we didn’t have to; it was colder than a nuns buns and the wind was howling like a wolf in a horror flick. Their front door was open and we thought someone was looking outside but after a while we realized it was just the way the steamed up glass on their storm door and the shadows played off each other, so Bruiser started honking his horn like a cab driver in traffic since neither of them had come out yet.
“Go ahead and get ‘em Phil,” Brock told me.
“It’s colder than a bee-othces cree-otch,” I said.
“You get ‘em Brock,” Dan said.
“The wind is blowing like a hoe with a line of people out the doe,” Brock replied just as their Mom opened the glass storm door and held up one finger to let us know they would be out in one minute.
This sparked Bruiser into asking, “Who’s that clam? … Dinna-mack!”
Blazin' and I in synchronicity exclaimed, “That’s Miguel and Gio’s Mom.” We knew what he meant though. All of us boys knew what he had meant.
“Damn man, she is one hot mama,” Bruiser said.
Blazin' jumped in, “Yeah, I know when all of us guys first met her we thought she was someone’s sister or girlfriend or something.”
Moments later, Miguel got into the ride and Bruiser said, “Miguel dude, that’s your mom?”
He started smiling from ear to ear, “Yep,” and because everyone always told him how hot his mom was, he knew why Dan had asked. He liked the compliment unlike his brother, who took offense to it.
“Your mom is smokin’ hot!” Dan said.
Fandango had hopped in as Dan had said that, “Dudes! Don’t be talking about my mom like that; you’re all a bunch of sick ducks,” Fandango said as he smiled wryly.
Then Dan turned on the mixes and we all began to groove to JM Silk, “Music is the Key.”
I was glad to see that all of us were wearing our black and gray colors and we all had on our NSR nameplates; which made us all look taller than tall. Tall Chicago! That’s all I cared about in the whole world at that point, nothing else; the fact that we all had on our break crews colors and NSR nameplates, somehow made me relax.
On the way to pick up Kid Mojo and Jet Drinkwater Miguel told us about how he had just scooped up some turntables and how he had been practicing how to DJ and Break all week. This kind of made me nervous again, because I didn’t want anyone to be distracted; I wanted everyone focused on the task at hand which was to take out the nefarious Hip Hop Breakers. I guess I was worried that he had spent more time DJing than breakin’.
Miguel assured me that he was mainly practicing his breakin’ and just putting records on the spinning platter to break to and just occasionally working on beat matching and blends.
Then Fandango jumped into the conversation, just to mess with me. He could tell that I was getting nervous. I really wore my emotions on my sleeve sometimes. And even though I knew he was just trying to razz me, it still razzed me anyway, when he said, “Dude, I’ve been practicing DJing and Salsa dancing for the ladies bro. Nobody told me to work on my breakin’?”
I tried to pretend he didn’t say anything but I’m sure my face looked tense. I was tense; break battle tense.
Miguel tapped my arm, smiled, shook his head and said, “Gio’s been practicing his breakin’ all week long. He even has some new moves rockin’, you’ll see.” I believed Miguel, yet it made me nervous all the same. Between battling the HHB’s and Boogie Bob being in the hospital and having to rock out the head spins for our crew that night – I was all atwitter.
Fandango kept trying to rattle me, “I’ve been working on the Mambo, Tango, and Salsa,” he said in an annoying voice with irritating and feigned serious eyes.
Dan Bruiser tried to give us a pep talk, “You all should save your best moves for last. Let’s see what these guys got first. Then at the end WHOOP THEIR ASSES.”
“What if these guys start bustin’ out with flares right out of the gate?” Brock Blazin’ asked.
“I’m not saying not to counter their moves. Counter whatever they throw at you but only counter in the beginning, don’t show off your show stoppers until the end; save your energy. You don’t want to be tired at the end. You dig?” Dan the man said.
“Yep,”
“Foe-shawl,”
“Right on.” we all had said in our own variations.
“When do I start my Salsa dancing -right after their tracks or head glides?” Fandango said just to keep me on edge.
Good old Bruiser helped me snap out of it when he messed with Fandango in my defense and said, “Hey yeah, cool, can I Tango dance with your mom? Your mom is smokin’ …. Smoking hot.”
Bruiser was good like that, he knew how to loosen us guys up, well, we all laughed, save for Fandango – even Miguel closed mouth smirked.
It was already pretty damn tight in the Stang with the five of us and I guess I didn’t think it through when I gave Dan the list of people we had to pick up that night. When we pulled down Kid Mojos’ street the chicanery started back up again. Miguel asked, “Where are you going? The rink is the other way?”
Bruiser said, “Were getting two more of the boys … you guys are going to have to sit on each other’s laps or something. It was Phil’s’ idea to pick all you cats up.”
“No one is sitting on my lap,” Fandango said.
“Don’t worry Fandango, you can talk about whatever pops up,” Blazin’ said tauntingly.
“I won’t be talking about anything because they are going to be sitting on your lap my man,” Fandango said to Brock.
We pulled into Kid Mojo’s driveway, I opened up the passenger door, and Kid Mojo said, “Dude where are we supposed to sit?”
I smart ass-ed-ly said, “On Fandango’s Salsa dancing Cee-ock … bee-otch.”
Kid Mojo retorted, “Nahh, I’m good. That’s cool man, my sister already said she would take us up there if I needed her to, I’m not sitting on anyone’s Cee-ock Bee-otch,” he laughed with mortification.
Bruiser jumped in and said,” Yo guys there’s plenty of room back there. Just don’t go grabbing any of the handles on the back seat when you get in or out … because … THERE ARE NO HANDLES in the back seat…” Bruiser said wheezing with laughter and then added, “and don’t go sitting on any poles.” This sent Dan and Brock into another round of wheezing laughter and tears.
Everyone’s faces grew sour about all of the dick jokes and all but it was all a mute point once Mojo said his sister would hook them up with a ride. I don’t know what it is about us guys, but when you put enough of us in a room, car, or somewhere together, we can’t help but talk about our Dee-ocks, farts, boobs, or chicks asses or whatever. That’s just what we do. We try to out-gross each other and such. However, we don’t always talk about that stuff. Once in a while when we are feeling intellectual you might hear us talking about penis refractory time frames, flatulence, mammary glands, or the female gluteus maximus and minimus. That’s on a good day though.
When we had enough of the raillery, Kid Mojo went back into his crib to get his sister, and we pulled out of Kid Mojos driveway chanting, “NSR” loud as EFF. Jet Drinkwater was jamming out a top rock and shadow practicing his up rock against the garage; Dan’s car headlights had given Jet a shadow battle mate as we eased back onto the street.
Bruiser yelled to all of us, “One more stop fellas then we’ll head straight to Chicagoland Rink.”
“Who are we getting now?” Blazin’ asked with discontent.
“We’ve got to pick up Geeta, did you forget?” Bruiser said to Brock while looking in his rear view mirror at him.
“Who’s Geeta?” Brock asked confounded.
Bruiser erupted with a wheezing laugh, “Geeta the Frigg outta here!”
And off to Chicagoland Rink we drove.
The last ten minutes of the ride to Chicagoland Rink became quiet in regards to inane chatter; Brock tried to keep the burns going, but no one was falling for his schlerniousness. I was getting my focus on and picturing my moves in my head while Dan kept saying the word, “smokin’” over and over again, just to mess with Fandango. I was also a little quiet because I still hadn’t broken the news to anybody that Boogie Bob couldn’t physically make it to the battle.
We parked in the rink parking lot, Bruiser turned off the car, and it was eerily quiet. We had remained quiet for way too long for my liking – it was starting to get me anxious again. It was probably only a whole five seconds of quiet but it seemed like longer if you know what I mean.
Bruiser could tell everyone was pensive, nervous or just that something weird was going on inside our heads because he intentionally started clearing his throat. Bruiser shouted, “It’s like a friggin’ morgue around here. Snap out of it guys,” he said as he began to cackle at our tense asses.
“Okay okay, I’m cool, I’m cool,” Blazin said.
“I’m just getting my game face on,” I said seriously and then I added, just to joke around, “and I don’t even know what a game face is.”
“I am just trying to remember my Salsa moves,” Fandango said.
“What did you say about your mom?” Bruiser said to Gio with a wiseacre smile and then he reached into his trunk and pulled out a duffle bag and put the strap around his shoulder, then said to nobody in particular, “Let’s do this, let’s do this.”
Miguel scratched his head and asked, “What’s in the bag Dan?”
“I brought everyone’s Nunnya’s,” Dan said with a serious stone face and unblinking eyes.
“What’s a nunnya?” Miguel asked earnestly.
“Nunnya friggin’ business,” Dan guffawed sounding like a chain saw.
A little goofing around by our de facto crew boss had lightened up the mood; everyone seemed to be loose and smiling again. Especially Miguel with his large closed mouth smile that shone brightly as he began to jauntily top rock around the parking lot.
As we were about to enter inside the rink I could hear the DJ jammin’, “It’s like that” by Run DMC thumping through the outside of the rink walls. This really got my mood kicked up into high gear. I couldn’t hear the lyrics but I knew the drum patterns and chimes. Bruiser opened the rink door and show nuf, “It’s like that” was kickin’ hard right into our friggin’ ears.
After paying to get in, I looked around every nook and cranny of the rink and noticed that the HHB’s were not there yet. I was glad they weren’t to be honest with you, I sort of wanted to warm up without them being there, but another part of me was worried that they weren’t going to show up. I can really be all over the place sometimes.
However, I did see a couple of my classmates hanging around on the chairs by the lit up dance floor. They had apparently gotten there earlier in the evening to skate because they were just taking their skates off right when I had walked in. It was still early, right around 9pm and the battle didn’t start for a couple of hours yet, so I went over by them and just started chillin’.
I was sort of hanging with them but I was also sort of watching the skaters. I looked out onto the rink floor and saw a couple, maybe in their twenty’s or thirty’s all dressed up as if they were going to the prom. The dude was wearing bell bottomed black pants and expensive looking roller skates, which was something I really used to know a lot about just a few months ago.
Even though he was a good fifty feet away from me I could tell that he was rolling on fanjet jumbo hugger wheels with black leather skate boots. He was wearing this white ruffled collared shirt, you’ve seen the kind, it was the kind that you’d picture Beethoven wearing when he was putting on his piano concerts in the days of yore. It was that kind of a ruffled shirt. The thing that was annoying to me was that he had three buttons or so, unbuttoned, and he was showing off his harry bro boobs. The girl he was skating with was practically wearing a turtle neck. ”They should at least swap shirts or something,” I said to Brock out of nowhere when I saw that he had caught my eyes gawking at those two skate around.
“As long as her boobs aren’t as hairy as his,“ he said jokingly.
The girl, his roller disco partner was wearing a long fifty’s style rippled white skirt – the kind you’ve seen girls wearing in old “sock hop” video footage or like in the movie “Grease.” She was sportin’ white leather skates, and a fancy white ruffled headband, that made their outfits look contrived. You could tell they really wanted to match. After I thought about it, it became clear that they probably entered couples roller skating contests. It looked like ballroom dancing on skates or disco dancing on skates – whatever it was called but they looked good, save for their ruffled clothing and his harry tits.
It was never my sort of thing (competitive skating) but I could tell the two of them were having a stone gas of a time, so it was kind of fun to watch them smile and execute their moves. They were really good at it too. It took my mind off the break battle for a few minutes but when I did worry, I mainly worried about those cats Angelo and Sylvester and the fact that they were gang bangers - and that sort of made me nervous again, if you know what I mean.
Girls were starting to filter into Chicagoland Rink, but even though I took a quick gawk, I still kept my mind fixed on the upcoming battle. But without even trying to look, I saw a group of girls with poufy hair, thick lipstick, and caked on mascara on their lashes heading directly to the ladies room with switches in full effect. It’s as if they all had practiced switching their butt cheeks from left to right and left to right again before they had come that night; they were that switcherific.
I knew those girls were only heading into the girls room to check out their makeup and hair, even though, I would bet you they had already checked their hair in their car sun visor mirrors, just before they walked in. I bet you they took another quick peek in their makeup compact mirrors while they were in the lobby, paying to get in too. They were that kind of sophisticated. I’d have bet a million dollars that they all had compact mirrors, full makeup kits, and perfume in their purses too. They were those kinds of skeezers. – Not that any of us guys minded that. That’s guys for ya, we don’t mind anything girls do, even if we make fun of it, you can bet some guy somewhere is digging whatever it is that some other guy is making fun of.
One of those girls’ hairdos would have given Einstein a run for his money. And even though their makeup would have made an opera singer feel like she needed more makeup; they were still looking HOT – just a different kind of hot. As Isaac had put it last week, they were “Bimbo” hot. Too much makeup and very tight clothing can earn a girl that kind of tag sometimes, at least from some guys.
I tried not to gawk at those girls for too long though, because Kelly was supposed to be showing up soon and the last thing I needed was for her to see me checking out some other girls. Girls can be funny like that. Never mind I’d be looking at some old lady wearing a babushka and using a walking cane, if she had just walked in too, just because I don’t walk around with my eyes closed. But it would be just my luck to only get busted looking at busts and not babushkas.
Blazin' nudged my ribs, “Look Swift, Kid Mojo and Jet Drinkwater just made it in here, let’s go chat ‘em up,” he said. While we were heading towards the rinks entrance, a flurry of people walked inside. I excitedly blurted out, “NSR is in the house my man,” as I saw more of our crew entering the rink. Chi Girl and her two buddies; Tabitha and Sabrina showed up. And Slim Jim was following immediately behind them. He was totally staring at their asses when he walked in.
“Busted,” I said to him as I winked.
“Sup Chi and my favorite groupies?” I said to the girls. Everyone smiled.
Tabitha gasped, “I’m starving” and then the three of them quickly darted to the snack shop as if they hadn’t eaten in years.
“Slim Jim in da house,” I said - and just as I reached out to high five him, in came our newest NSR’s.
“Why didn’t you tell me you wanted these guys in the crew?” he said as he high fived me, “I was just talking to them in the parking lot. I grew up with them,” Slim Jim said. He was referring to Braun Drix, AJ Fresh, Blake, and Pauly G who had just walked in.
“I didn’t know they were from your neighborhood,” I said.
“Yizz-eah brizzo, we went to the same elementary skizz-ool fizz-ool,” Slim Jim said in his usual form.
“I didn’t think about asking them to join our crew until I had met up with them last week, that’s all,” I said.
All of us breakers started heading over to the “Saturday night fever floor” where we had hung out last week which suddenly made me feel more relaxed. I was a rollercoaster ride of emotions all day, in case you couldn’t tell. But now that everyone was showing up, I was chill. – well sort of.
“I heard at 10pm they are going to open up the entire rink floor for dancing again, just like they did last week towards the end of the night, “Slim Jim said.
“Good – we are going to need room when we take out these chumps tonight,” I said as my braggadocio started to kick up.
Slim Jim high fived me, grabbed his NSR nameplate, gave it a kiss, and then said, “Word up!”
Chi Girl, Tabitha, and Sabrina passed out a few hugs and hellos, and then went to the ladies room to fix their already perfect hair. Which made Slim Jim sing the vocals from Klymaxx, “There’s a meeting in the ladies room“ as he started poppin’ and waving, just straight up boogalooin’ it to the DJ’s unknown beat track that went, “Da da-doom koosh koosh koosh –Da da-doom koosh koosh koosh.”
Kid Mojo trounced the floor violently as the DJ picked up the bass and threw an accapella vocal over the beat track, “You aint really down …” the song sang, as Mojo was getting all excited, power moving the floor like a machine with flares and swipes.
Bruiser was hanging around the DJ booth, chatting up the DJ booth entourage, which included the four poufy haired, smoky eye-shadowed Chicas I had told you about earlier. Bruiser had this serious as a heart attack look on his face as he talked to the MC, DJ, lighting guy, and whoever else it was that was in the booth. I didn’t have a clear view of the entire DJ booth from where I was standing but I could tell it was a crwth inside the booth.
My eyes were drawn back to the rink entrance where I saw these two cats from school; Logan Gelderring and Mickey Jumbo. Logan was that punk at school that called me “queer” at lunch time. Remember that ass wipe? He was one of those guys that always talked shee-ott. When I wore designer jeans, his were better. When I wore Drakkar Noir cologne, he’d tell me his Cool Water got more ladies. When I told him our crew was the baddest break crew around, he told me that he was from Chicago and any crew from Chicago could beat a suburbanite crew like ours – even though he had never seen our crew break before. He was that kind of an A-hole. He told me he was going to show up at the rink just so he could, “Watch a real Chicago b-boy crew take out yous wanna be suburbanites” was how he had said it. I didn’t think he was really going to show up but there he was standing right in front of me, picking his back teeth with his keys.
“Oh snap Swift, you’re about to be shown what’s up tonight for real,” that punk ice Logan said as he greeted me with a condescending tone in his voice and an equally annoying look in his beady eyes.
Blazin' walked up before I could even say anything and engaged Logan with a slap on the back, “Hey wazup Logan? You’re here … cool man, I didn’t know you hung out here?”
Logan replied, “I don’t, I came here to watch Phil K Swift get blown out of the water tonight by the Hip Hop Breakers.” (Logan and Brock were classmates and Logan obviously didn’t know that Brock and I were friends)
“What are you talking about dude? We Neighborhood Street Rockers are going to take out the Hip Hoppers, you’ll see dude. And you know why we are going to win?” Blazin' asked Logan, “Because we’ve got geeta on our crew!”
“Who’s Geeta?” Logan asked.
Blazin' flagrantly retorted, “Geeta frig outta here! Now beat it,” Brock said with emphasis. Blazin' finally was the burner instead of being the burn-ee. I high fived Brock while Logan just stood there and gave us a narrow glare.
“It seems like people like to mess with me, “I said quietly to Brock as we inched away from them.
Blazin' responded, “That’s because you let people know it bothers you, if you just acted like nothing bothered you, people would eventually shut up, but with some people, especially people like Logan, you have to stand up to them and give them a taste of their own medicine or they will just keep doing it. I always talk like a punk to him, even when I’m joking around and being cool with him, because that’s the kind of guy he is, he’s a bully and bullies have to be talked to like they’re punks, because they are,” Brock told me.
“Logan was talking Ess all week at school,” I said.
Blazin' nodded his head a few times and said, “Logan grew up in Chicago, so he thinks he’s cooler and tougher than us suburbanites … whatever.”
I responded, “Ok, I get it, that’s why he is convinced that the half suburbanite half Chicagoan Hip Hop Breakers are going to take us out tonight because Logan grew up in Chi Town, so he thinks Chi town cats are hipper than suburbanites. I guess tonight is our chance to show the Chicago boys – including Logan, what’s up. It’s funny though, when I go on vacation and people ask me: where are you from?; I always say I’m from Chicago …after all they call it Chicagoland,” I told Blazin’.
“Word, Swift! We are from Chicago, or Chicagoland … whatever,“ Brock said.
I bellowed, “I’m Chicago, Tall Chicago … It’s all Chicago!” which made me feel like top rockin’ as we walked.
While Blazin' and I were strolling around the B-boy turf, mingling with our cohorts, I spotted Angelo and Sylvester walk into the rink. They were easy to spot with their dark green and black colors; all of their boys were also dressed in colors; every single one of them. They snuck a peak over in our direction as they were heading inside; their eyeballs looked our way but their heads looked in the same direction as they were walking. They were heading to the same place they had hung out last week by the rink DJ booth and restrooms.
Bruiser was still chatting up the MC like the long winded cat that he was, and as the HHB’s drew closer to the DJ booth, Bruiser spotted them and began pointing right at them; our nemesis. The group of thirteen Hip Hop Breakers all started to top rock and down rock as they neared the DJ booth making their presence known.
The MC beckoned one of the Hip Hop Breakers over to the DJ booth and it wasn’t Angelo or Sylvester but I knew nonetheless that it was one of them. Bruiser, the MC, and the Hip Hop Breaker became engaged into a deep confab – most likely about our battle tonight.
“Sup Phil K Swift?” AJ Fresh said to me out of the blue. I didn’t even see him coming; I was so fixed on Bruiser’s confab.
“Sup AJ, I’m just Chillaxxin’ my brother,” I said but I wasn’t really chill. I was anxious and excited about the upcoming battle, but mainly I was nervous about telling everybody that I was the head spin specialist for the night.
AJ asked me, “Where are these guys that we are supposed to be battling tonight? Do you think they are going to show up or what?”
“They just walked in, look by the DJ booth, they are the guys that are wearing all black and dark green,” I said.
AJ stiffened his upper lip and waved his hand down towards the ground and said, “We can take those guys.”
I appreciated AJ’s confidence but I knew that he had never even seen the HHB’ break before, so it kind of came across as false bravado. However, it was still nice to hear it anyway. I like false bravado rather than a negative Nancy or a nervous Nelly.
“Yo Philly Phil, Phil,” Pauly G chanted as he cut into our confab and then he did this crazy ass Shiznit that he always did, which I still have no idea what the heck he was even doing, when he yelled, “Scroooompt!” He would say it and then he would reach out, touch my chin, then feign throwing it to the ground, and then he laughed to himself.
“Yo Pauly, Paul, Paul – what izzz doing bruh,” I said, while he offered me his complicated handshake th