Draft —
Meet Astral Bricks
Astral Bricks Meets the Neighborhood
He had been living there for a bit over six months, life was chaotic, ‘lately’ so was he, and the area he was surrounded by started to appear to him.
The Name was Astral Bricks; don’t ask how he got it, just know that it probably had to do with one of those funky meme’s that float around on the web, he’d had so many throughout life any how; it’s not like it really mattered, but for some reason A.B. was a bit fond of this one.
Astral was walking around the shitty complex he convincingly told people he lived in to save money; which was true, because he didn’t have much, and the few times he did it was always spent in different ways over different lengths of time. Save to spend, make to spend; what else is it good for? That’s always what his ex would say anyhow; not that much of it mattered without her.
The flashy BMW was an eye catcher, and he was in no shape to take anyone on. Tough enough to make a stand, frail enough to crumble on the first contact. He could hear them coming up the street as he begrudgingly enjoyed his cigarette, wanting to quit isn’t as easy when you don’t really want to. A flash of the old self in his mind, like a frame in a movie; gone.
The Three black men, rapping down the street. It appeared that there could be trouble; the walk, the sound. It was the gait in their step. Astral walks around the other side of the Beemer. The three “Nigga’s”, not a word he conventionally uses, however he would come to find this scenario was an accurate depiction of one of the categories that word represents, walk by the vehicle on the sidewalk. A. Bricks hears the lyrics and thinks there might be a shot that they aren’t so dangerous and there is possibility for ‘amicable’ conversation;
“Bitches -this and that- playin’ with the pussies
… who don’t love that …
Luh dat, luh dat ...”
he busts out laughing, relinquishing the fear or any concern that would have held it back otherwise.
Really in the long run he’d have no idea what the exact lyrics were, it didn’t really matter. Upon hearing the boisterous laugh, the guy singing it turned and looked, harshly at first, then 1/8th grinned with just the corner edge of his mouth, not entirely friendly but with just a noticeable head twitch for acknowledgement to A.B.
That was what it took, there was the open door, Astral Bricks, took a puff on the ‘Stohg’ and walked around the car.
“Hey, do you guys do this all the time?”
“Yeeh” was the reply.
Astral was entering into a dominance display put forth by the three “Nigga’s”
“We do all kinds of music, we rap aaaalll day. we do ‘x y z’ & rock music, we aint that good at it, but we could do it tho.”
Astral starts laughing again with a huge smile
& at the same time solidly states: —
“Man,
I know you’re only saying
Rock music
because I’m white!
It’s all good man”
“Nah, we just aint that good at it. We gotta studio, we rent $50/hr.”
A.B. — “Nice, I just; what do you call it, spit the other day”
Short Alpha Nga1 —
“Really, let’s hear it; spit that shit out.”
A.B. — “Alright, I’ve got it written down… lemme go …”
Short Alpha Nga1 —
“Nah man you gotta have your shit memorized, able to pop-it and spit it. You gonna do it or what?”
A.B. — “I’ve gotta grab it, I just put it on the mic on Friday.”
Short Alpha Nga1 —
“You gotta have that shit in your head, so you can pop it off any time, Like this…”
— — rap beat and same lyrics repeated for nearly a dozen times — —
Astral secretly wasn’t that impressed, waiting for something other than the same single sentence with a comma being repeated.
Excitement!
He, Nga1, began to change it up and immediately forgot, stuttered, tried once again, and laughed at himself; throwing a quick jab to the stomach of his ‘partna’ with a white jacket, hat, and big cushy earphones around his neck. The tall one had a “Fro Pick”
“man I can’t believe I’m on this fool about how he needs to have his shit in his head memorized and I’m fuckin’ up.”
the tall one starts to rap, the one that just failed starts beating on his chest in a ryhthmic pattern. This is a turn based operation.
The war beat begins. — Images of Tongan War Beasts(link) making faces, slaping their chests, stomping … This was a crew, walking the streets, claiming turf. Mini-Nationalism, bound together, initially, for safety. They know each other, do this all day, their rhythms, beats, sounds, songs… A troupe displaying aggression and the hardness they have acquired while on the street away from the tenderness of a mothers love.
They were in their Twenties.
His Hand points
to his homies
head and chest
motions pulling a trigger.
“I aint got no problem poppin a nigga”
Then the hand to the kidney in a stabbing motion.
“I aint got no issue stabbin’ a foo’ “
“I’ll shank you too, get what I need ta get, do what I need to do”
All Astral could really hear was:
“It’s me and us, vs. you”
The Skinny white boy in his head popped up for a second from when he was a kid, meak and shy; but the thought would have been the same then anyhow; words echoeing inside the confines of the mind. ‘Cool guys! I gotta go!’
And just a turn to walk off.
That’s obviously not what happened.
Astral Bricks had taken a hit off of a THC wax vaporizing pen a little while ago, the effects had begun to set in around the time he thought it would be a good idea to laugh and start conversation, nice, light, and high. A guy in an orange leather jacket, several inches taller than him appears. A jacket similar to one Astral owned for motorcycling. He appeared very close on Astral Bricks left shoulder. Nga1 to the right leaning against a car, Tall Nga2 directly across, and the one with the cap was forward to the left; space had been left. “Hey Tone!” He says with astonished excitement.
The guy looks at him, slightly down. It hits…
“Awe, shit, you aint Tone; Sup bra, I’m Astral. Woulda been crazy thinkin’ you were someone else. Thinkin’ how the fuck u know where I’m At.”
It had been years since he’d seen Tony in person; but, Tony was just in touch the last couple of days saying he would be heading this direction and asking if He would be around; recency on the sub-mind.
— This guy, who isn’t Tone, Starts to talk with these other guys, and could’ve given a shit that he looked like a funky twin of Astrals’ friend from 10 years back, or that he just introduced and shook hands.
“Yo, if the monies on the floor it’s yurs dog, just pick it up and grab it.
Yeh, tell Stacy that shit fo’ her too Nigga. . … .
What you wanna Brick too?”
Business was picking up for more than a $50/hr studio it appeared.
A quick glimpse over his shoulder during this escalating situation and Astral see’s others coming up the sidewalk behind him, nearing his still running car, unsigned pink in the glove-. A white guy, fucked up skinny, tall, homeless… mean looking, fucking, meth-head.
“Great.”
