I’m walking back to my hood after a heavy happy hour (das right, I didn’t drive this time!). As I’m approaching Harlem, this brotha is holding down a block rappin into a mic which is projecting from an old school boombox. He gives me a nod, so I politely return the gesture. The rest follows likewise:
Rapper - aye mang, w’sup?
Me - Nothin, just walking home.
Rapper - aye mang, I know you diggin my rhymes, let me hookchu up wit a cd.
Me - Nah mang, I’m on my way home.
Rapper - Whatcho name bro?
Me - CFAvsMBA, what’s yours?
At that moment he busts out a black magic sharpie marker and signs the cd case implying now I’d have to buy it. I shake my head in disgust and keep walking. From behind I hear all sorts of begging like, “C’mon man, I signed dis for you, just kick a coupla bucks my way. Help a brotha out. I’m cold and my keedz is hungry. Etc.” I kept walking and arrived to my pad in Harlem a few minutes later.
I could see a stunt like dis working well in a touristy part of town, not in the local ghetto where homies know better.
(Jcole, I’ll hit you up, I need a new email address to get at you from. I can’t remember the password for my junkmail based address).