“My First Big Vamp”

I never went bombing with E.T. and those guys again, except for some local street bombing and motion writing. Motion writing was bombing the insides of a train while it was running with passengers and all. I didn’t like motion writing because it seemed to me that an undercover detective could pull out a badge on us at any given second. Besides, E.T. had fell in love with a girl and now wrote exclusively “E.T. Loves Angie.” I didn’t want to be associated with that.

Back on my block, I still didn’t know all that many people. The guys on my street were in a gang called the Playboys. They all looked mean and always had a glare in their eyes. Little by little, they all embraced me once they learned that i was Patricia’s little brother. My sister Patrica was friends with everybody there was to know in the streets at that time. Crazy Legs, all of the New York City Breakers, Afrika Bambatta, leader of Zulu Nation and Big Moe, leader of the Ball Busters. I didn’t realize her power, but obviously you didn’t want to fuck with Patricia’s little brother.

There was this sneaky looking kid that always hung out on the stoop of the building next to mine. He was always there, even if it was raining, just hanging out, doing nothing. He gave everybody he made eye contact a dirty look, including me. I thought that we were going to get into a fight sooner or later. He didn’t know that I was obsessed with doing push-ups. I drove my famil crazy with my push-ups. I would do them in the middle of dinner or while somebody was talking to me. I was able to do almost 75 push-ups in one clip and I was only 13 years old. I was also getting into how many correct, solid punches I could throw in a minute. I was up to 90. I couldn’t wait to unleash my “flurry” on somebody.

I was introduced to the kid before we got into a fight for that very exact reason. His name was Gene and he turned out to be cool.

“You wanna be down with my crew M.G.W.

“What’s that?”

“Manhattan Graffiti Writers.”

It seemed that everybody was down with a crew but me. I wanted to be down with a crew bad as hell, but acted casually.

“Who do you have down with you.”

“All the Playboys and the writers on 175th street. Disco, Fize, Dint and Zook.

“Fuck it, I’ll be down.”

The next week after school, Gene invited me to explore an underground train yard called the 175th Street lay-up. I didn’t hesitate to say yes, but I learned my lesson from my experience with T-Kid at the Ghost Yard. I knew where my cousin Junior kept his 357 Smith and Wesson and I snuck it out, fully loaded.

I met Disco, Fize, Dint and Zook and got along with them right away. We all agreed that if we caught any writers in the lay-up, we would fuck them up and take their shit. They all had knives and machetes. I wanted to show my gun badly but didn’t trust Gene. He would probably tell Junior to score points with him. My cousin had Mike Tyson-like power in his day and would have severely fucked me up for such a serious infraction.

I found the 175th Street lay-up way more creepier than the Ghost Yard.  You entered from the train station and it was at least 4 city blocks deep into the pitch black tunnel that had a serious bend somewhere in the middle that made it appear that trains came out of nowhere. You could either walk on a narrow, one foot wide ledge that was muddy and slippery or you on the tracks. Either way, if a train came, you had to lean flat back against a wall while the train sped past you eight inches away from your nose. You could clearly see the passengers inside. I once took out my dick and pissed on the train as it past me.

Once you got to the entrance of the lay-up, it felt like something out of Raiders of the Lost Ark. The stairs and walls were made out of concrete and every single inch of it was bombed. There were Min, Boe, Rich, Zephyr, Rasta, Futura 2000 tags as well as the more famous neighborhood writers like Jon-One, Rize, Eps Tc5, Nel-One, Little Man, Stem and Con Two. It was an unbelivable experience. 

Once in the lay-up, there was 4 to 5 trains parked on both sides. The motors of the trains were still running, making eerie sounds. The middle of the lay-up was clear and there was a big “NE” throw-up on the wall. Ne was Min-One.

I got into thecar of the first train that I saw and I smelled chicken.  I looked in the conductor’s booth and found a bag of kentucky fried chicken with an extra large coke. I got excited and started eating the chicken. I didn’t want to share with the others, not until I had enough anyway. The chicken was luke warm and the coke still cold. I wondered where it came from when I heard the door in the train slam. I looked and it was a big, angry, black conductor.

“Why you little motherfucking son of a bitch....eating my motherfucking chicken!”

I got scared but then I remembered that I was strapped. I took out the gun but my fingers were greasey and it slipped out my hand. I wiped my hands on my jeans and picked up the gun quick. I aimed it perfectly between the man’s eyes.

“I’m taking your motherfucking chicken and there isn’t shit you can do about it!”

“Take it easy there, son.”

“I’m not your son, Pops. Now back the fuck up!”

The man froze. I cocked the gun.

“Say I won’t. I dare you. Say I won’t!”

The conductor wasn’t stupid, he backed up.

“Go in the next car!”

He did. I escaped by climbing down inbetween two cars.

“Yo, I just vamped a conductor for his Kentucky Fried Chicken! Let’s be out!”

Some other conductors appeared at the end of the lay-up with paddles. One was taling on a walkie-talkie. We ran and made it safely back to the streets. Gene went back to the block and I stayed hanging out with Disco and the others. We ate the chicken and then we robbed some hippies copping weed. After we smoked blunts, we got hungry again and ordered Chinese food from a pay phone and robbed the delivery man as well. I liked hanging with the guys from 175th street. They were fun.

Gene stopped writing and gave M.G.W. to Disco. Disco renamed it to F.K. Which became one of the most notorious “toy” crews next to the HOT crew that ran the City Hall lay-up.

For legal purposes, I’m claiming this story a work of fiction.

Posted on October 08, 2007 at 08:48 AM   |   Previous Entry   |   Next Entry   |   Entry List   |   Email Entry   |    Digg

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