Sunday, July 2008
We were talking with some friends infront of the Coney Island skate shop when this feller approaches us and asks me for a light for his Newport. He's all fucked up, and he tells a story, "I just came from this bodega and the fucking arab sold me an old pack of Newports for 9 dollars! You see, the new tax stamps on the bottom of the packs are purple. This pack has an orange one. So i cracked him in the face!" Sure enough, two cops showed up from behind and started asking us questions, like we knew him. The cops bullshitted with them until the store owner arrived with the cops and pointed them out, as blood gushed from his head. The cuffs went on, and they took them away. All three feet away from us.
Coney Island this time around was not the best. The water was choppy with more trash than usual. Jelly fish too. My buddy cut his foot on glass, and I saw a huge shouting match on the train versus a big fat white dude and a skinny black homless vietnam vetran. They cussed each other for three stops, inches from beefing. What a dizzay.
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