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Getting this off my chest

So, we went out last night for an absolute blinder. Trawled our way through the seedy, hipster underbelly of Shoreditch, did the loop on Hoxton Square, weaselled our way down Old St and staggered out blinking into the night at about 3am. Where things took a decidedly weird turn. Strolling back to the bat cave, we tried our luck at a little parkour; taking us down a few empty streets, vibing on the walls and generally flairing like only professional drunkards can. The word may even have been gambolling.

And then, out of nowhere, steps the biggest, ugliest transvestite you have ever seen. 6ft if she’s an inch, shoulders broader than Atlas, and, incongruously, boots that wouldn’t look out of place on a paratrooper. She starts mouthing off about us vibing around her neighbourhood at 4 in the morning, and we’re like, ‘yo step back now and give a brother room, the fuse is lit and it’s about to go boom’. She’s clearly not going to, so, before things turn ugly (oh, alright, she was already pretty ugly), we turned tail and ran. Got onto Bethnal Green Road, whistled for a cab and when it came near the license plate said “Fresh”, and it had dice in the mirror. If anything I could say that this cab was rare, but I thought man forget it “yo homes to Bel-Air”. I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 and I yelled to the cabbie ‘yo homes smell ya later’. Looked at my kingdom I was finally there, to sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel-Air.

Just like that.

1 Comment

• On 12.09.07 Ms Baroque wrote these pithy words:

  Cute blog, guys! And boy, I’ve been there… no more. I just get the cab first, these days.

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