We gotta bop our way back to Coney

 Coney Island was a cool place..for many reason.

Firstly, it was grimey as FUCK. Mostly consisted of project buildings, dirty old bodegas (corner shops), liqour stores and for some reason there were shitloads of mental institutes, that had crazy people just wandering around outside all times of the night..You have the boardwalk, that stretches all the way down to the fairground..that one from the Warriors with the Wonderwheel..

 The beach was a fucking dive, pure chunks of glass and needles all over the place! Most times i would venture out from the building i was staying in, which was a project building that usually smelt of piss and faeces, i would get asked if i wanted business by many of the local prostitutes lining the streets..Nice! I'm from out of town so i didn't really get it at first, i'd be walking and would just hear someone go 'psssst', look over, an some 'woman/spunkbucket/brass' is standing in a dark corner...an sometimes would flash me a titty! Not a nice mid 20s titty, i'm talking a mid thirties floppy pancake titty..not so nice!

 For a writer, especially an English one, Coney Island is the fucking shit. As soon as i pulled up in those ends, i noticed that it was bombed to FUCK..Seeing a grimey place like Coney Island covered in JA throwups and the rest of the XTC lot, it was very inviting..JA literally had the place on lock, tags everywhere..most of them crossed out, but who the fuck cares.

 

 The building i was staying in was not the nicest of pads. Entering the building you usually saw some vomit somewhere, and could expect it to stay there for a few good days to ferment..The actual apartment WAS nice, my cousins wife is a really nice lady and she took me in and looked after me like i was her son, which i am very grateful for..as my cousin was a big fat loser. The dude looks like Butterbean if he had a stroke.

 The mental homes that lined Coney Island were very disturbing. In America they don't have a healthcare system like ours, so if you get old and crazy, they usually just leave you to your own devices, to walk the streets or become a homeless person, or sling you in one of these mental homes to decay even further..The dudes in there would shout and spit at you as you walk past too, i ain't gonna lie it was scary going past those places late at night, looked like about 200 sloths from the goonies could've jumped me at any moment..

 The amount of mental people on the subway is epic. They come in all shapes and sizes. I recall one time sitting on the subway and seeing this Chinese lady who had wraped toilet paper all over her arms, had nails like LoPan from Big Trouble in little China, and covered her seat with toilet paper before she sat down..as you do..

..So, inspired by how fucking BOMBED Coney was, i set off into the city to get some paint..Getting on the train at Stillwell was cool, there was a HUGE OS Gemeos mural painted there, as amazing and epic as anything i've ever seen of theirs..

 

 After a few hours in town, i was stocked for a few nights fun. Had got me a few Montana blacks with my nice free student loan money, and some Krylons..when in Rome..

 My cousin had said he used to write 'back in the days'..if only i had a pound for every New Yorker that has told me this. Especially in Jail, every single guy claims he used to 'bomb the trains', and knew Seen and Tkid and all the rest of them..yet when u ask them to bust a handstyle or throwup, they either refuse, or their hand dribbles out some kind of scribblefest that only an arthiritic blob could spawn..Nice one mate.

 So, my cousin agreed to 'take me out bombing'. I didn't need his help to do this, not in the slightest. But i wasn't in London. I was in New York. And i was staying in a very dangerous part of New York, and my cousin had guns...So...

 I pack my bag full of paint, he gets his strap, we roll a couple of blunts and out we go...first just going along the boardwalk, i'm catching reaches here an there casually while we bun this crappy weed down..bombing while smoking a blunt is certainly NOT FUCKING ADVISED, especially somewhere u don't know, especially somewhere that your 'host' has deemed worthy enough to carry a strap around. I was in prangville Tennessee...

 There was one spot i had my eye on. It was a huge yard that was filled with school busses, but all of the outside of it was covered in throwups..mostly of NY bombing legends, JA and the like..so man's had to catch a throwie on here. I pointed it out, cousin was keeping an eye out, so off i went...

 About halfway through painting this throwup, there was a hole in the fence...and while my hand is RIGHT next to that whole, some fucking HUGE K9 sticks his head through the hole, almost chomps my arm off, and starts barking like a motherfucker. It did cross my mind to just fill in this dogs face with matt white, but i decided to just ignore it and keep painting..this dog is making such a fucking racket, it's not helping to calm my nerves...that and the police car that keeps circling the block. But i wrap things up, and keep it moving...

 We get back on the boardwalk, start to head back, and out of nowhere are confronted by the biggest Polish guy i have ever seen. Think Zangief, if he was a fisherman. This dudes fingers looked like..well, looked like he had hench dicks for fingers. And he was holding a fucking HUGE Rottweiler. This thing could've been mistaken for a Bear on a leash. My cousin has his hand on his waist, which to me, is not a good sign. The dude starts talking to my cousin about dogs, and my cousin keeps repeating..

"man, tie your dog up."

The guy doesn't listen.

"you need to tie your dog up"

He still doesn't listen. I'm starting to really get prang now. I can see my COUSIN is getting nervous too. And he has a gun..But finally the guy ties the dog up, and has a rather strange conversation about his dog and how he feeds it horse feed that has steroids in it..Nice.

 We get back to the yard at about 3-4am, and unsuprisingly there is some fresh barf in the corridor..I don't really give a fuck, i'm just happy to actually be back there in one piece. My cousin is a big guy (and a fucking wanker i might add) and looks like he can handle himself, and man's is usually strapped on road..but as we smoke the last blunt of the night, he calmy leans over to me and says..

"Hey timmy, that guy could've killed us, you know"

..Great news, thanks for that.