Special Moves

Once upon a time,
i used to play in a hardcore band.

 Ever since the year 1999,
i've been knocking around the hardcore scene
in London.

 My brother play in a few different bands
here and there, one of them in particular
used to play the Pressure Festival in Germany.

 This was always a good excuse for some overseas fuckrie,
bopping to foreign lands for a week of slippyness an decent music.

 One year,
i got introduced through a mutual freind to a Norwegian
writer, from the UL crew.

 After that initial linkadge,
me and this dude would link up at the festival every year,
miss all the bands apart from the ones i travelled over with and
have seen a bzillion times, and paint.

Good times.

 Back in 2009,
i get an email from my buddy, asking if i'm
coming to the festival this year.

 I inform him that i am currently
residing in Maspeth, Queens, not London.

He books a flight.

Weeks later,
my man is standing on my doorstep ready to
put his UL stamp on New York City..

We didn't spend much time in my yard.

After a quick meal, it was time to boogie.

  There is shit to be done.

I find us a cheap bar to jam in for a few
hours, throw back some shots, an see how the night unfolds.

 Our first night out,
i just wanted to show homeboy a bit of the city,
get pissed up an possibly eye some spots for later.

The paint stayed at home.

It was probably for the best.

 When i lived in Maspeth,
it was always a mission coming back from the
city. But when you're drunk and with a freind,
who the fuck cares.

After a couple days being shown around,
acquiring paint and food, it was time to get busy.

Usual plan.

Grab drinks, go paint, more drink, paint.

I like shutters,
and i had a few in mind this evening.

One of them was opposite a very shitty looking bar.

We could only make out a few old crones in the back
of the place, sipping dirty glasses of pissy wine, so assumed
the place must have been closed.

So.

Despite it being no later than 1030pm,
i decided it was time to dun the dance,
you get me.

I'm about halfway through filling in this
two toned piece of garbage when i hear a voice
calling me, in a distinctly European, broken accent..

"Duuude! Duuude!"

It's homeboy.

I turn around,
and i'm greeted with the sight of about six of these old
grave dodgers standing at the window of the opposite bar, smiling,
watching mans paint.

Bate.

I put my tins away in my bag,
an come back a few slippery hours later to finish
it off, minus the crowd of old codgers.

The next few hours are spent walking around Brooklyn,
hopping into bars, necking shots, then heading to the spots
we'd scoped earlier in the week.

 The night was calm,
streets are empty, everything is peaceful.

I glance over at my freind,
and i laugh to myself..

I'm an Englishman,
rolling with this Norwegian bredren,
that i met in germany, and now we're
running around the streets of Brooklyn,
New York City.

Life's a motherfucker.

 His last few days left, we spend chilling,
getting flicks of the assorted daubings scrawled
over the past week, and reminiscing on past Fuckrie.

My dude leaves.

Our reaches stay up for a while,
but the memories of times like these will
always be with me.

Good times.