The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers. (delascabezas) wrote,
The Son of the last of a long line of thinkers.

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so i left mrshellion's place around 1:20 in the a.m. I walk to the PATH no problemo. get there, and i am the only one on the platform. wait about 5 minutes, mp3 player going. two persons approach me from down the stairs. they come right up to me, and appear to be asking me something. one is about two/three inches shorter, black, with dreadlocks. the other is probably 6 inches shorter, hispanic. i assume they are asking directions. i slip one earphone off my ear to answer. i get:

"yo white bread, lemme see your wallet"

"excuse me?"

"my buddy and i wanna see your wallet"

"how about no?"

"yo, i don't think you heard me straight. if you don't want trouble, my boy and i wanna see your fuckin wallet."

at this point, i am trying to determine if either of them has a weapon. if not, i probably weigh close to what both of them combined do. if they have a weapon, i can get really fucking dead fast. before i can put my hand to my knife, dreadlocks puts his hand on my suit, and makes a grab for my pants pocket. i went into the train using the metrocard in my bag, so he assumed i kept my wallet in my pants i guess, if they were smart enough to fucking tail me.

i grab dreadlocks by the hair with my left hand, and suck the air out of him with my right fist via his gut. i am either getting shot or walking away clean. he folds like a lawn chair. while he is gasping like a waterless carp, jerking in my fist as such, his hispanic buddy starts backing off.

"yo, we don't want no trouble."

"step the fuck off before i call some cops."

"no fucking need ese, we are gone."

as soon as he says this, dreadlocks, who i still have a hand on by the hair, catches his breath. he pops me one in the nose, and when i am seeing white stars, starts hammering me on the right side of the head. i end up half crouched over. i remember seeing my bag by my feet as it slipped off my shoulder. luckily, my grip on his greasy locks did not let go. i slam his head into my knee. he re-folds, and the only thing keeping his face off the pavement is a fistful of his hair. hispanic boy, the wondrous mugging sidekick, has yet to move.

i drop dredsy on his face.

"get the fuck outta here man, before i fucking call some cops."

"yo word, there must have been a misunderstanding."

"fucking get lost asshole!"

he grabs dredsy and runs. it is at this point that i realize that i am bleeding from the nose. i am seeing red, yet i manage to get my handkerchief out of my pocket, instead of my knife. i ruined my white shirt in the process.

i sit the ride all the way to fucking wtc, applying direct pressure to my geyser nostril. my head feels like a brazilian conga band.

i get out, and hop a cab. wangch61's house is the nearest safe haven i know. i must have looked a fright when i showed up. i spent about 10 minutes in the bathroom cleaning myself up, and getting the bleeding to stop.

i'm not overly fucked up. i didn't get my nose broken- the pop, it just loosened a blood vessel.

i spent the rest of the eve with either ice or a cold drink on my pate. the lump is maybe 1/4 inch from the crack in my skull from my long ago fight in woodlawn. why couldn't i have gotten a matching lump? motherfucker had to wail on me on the weak side of my skull.

i am scared to sleep until at least 8. 6 hours after a concussion is 1/4 chances of not waking up. 8 hours is 1/10. 12 hours is supposedly aok. i don't know, after the week i've had, if i can make it to 2pm.

water and ice are my friends right now. advil is on the way to my gut. hopefully, the sunrise will give me some piece of mind.

my hands were shaking until at least 4.

i fucking hate the state of the dammned.

happy motherfucking satruday all.
Tags: angst, fighting, jersey, nightlife

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