This post will be unlike any other post that will appear here. Typically, I have the time to let you know what I've been up to, though upcoming posts will be more like the hip-hop cheap highs as advertized, this story is an interesting tale for the coverage of my first event on this page.
My people from Queens and Yonkers group, First Cousins, performed on the undercard of the Royal Flush/ Smif'N Wessun show at B.B. King's on 42nd street across from the Port Authority. After what was one of the better, most chill, rap shows I've been to in a while. Royal Flush did a great set with help from John Doe, Mic Geronimo and a couple of others. People came out of the wood-work in support of the new street album. With the booze flowing and the weed burning, a good time was being had by all.
My cousin Belly, his friend from work Dom and I were standing on the corner of 42nd eating some post-show Sish Kababs. Drunk, buzzed and ready for bed, I directed the group towards the parking lot a block away just about 3:15am.
The guard in the nearly totoally empty parking lot told us we could have my car back. The cost for the storage? $39. Unfortunatly, we were only working with a grand sum of $17 between the three of us at that hour, without any ATM card for quick assistance we were fuck-outta-luck. Until he came over to us.
He told us his name was Dr.Birdman and he wondered "How much you need?" His hands and mouth appeared to be bleeding and his eyes off to the right sometimes, other times off to the left. He wore a short jean jackett with a greenish tint. His hands bled worse than his lips and he appeared to be wandering aimlessly. He put the money in my hands, but before the key could hit the egnition the bacon arrived.
By the worst odds in hell, a partol car carrying Officers Dickinson, a female, and Hanson, a silent male cop type, wandered into the parking lot themselves. I gave the money back to the apparently homeless physician who told me he had no phone number, but he had a family. After a little shouting from the good Docter, and even a little rumbling in our own camp, Birdman disappered into the deli around the corner and the police left us be.
I found the tired, cold Dr.Birdman taking shelter at a table in the back of a deli. I approached him with a humble, respectful tone. I understood he was our only chance of me getting out of there at the time. There was no one to come save us.
"Dr.Birdman?" I asked.
"How you know my name?" he shouted
I reminded him of his previous attempt at charity and he remembered. He took me outside into the cold, loud night and asked me to tell him the situation one more time for clarity.
I told him that we needed the money to get our car out and he told me if I wanted to step into his office he'd give it to me. In the back of the same deli from which we just came; Dr.Birdman slapped his money down on the table, sat Belly and I down and gave us the remainder of the money we'd need to get our car out.