So we rented a car my dad was very excited about, i don't know what the fuck it was, but he took so many pictures with it that it made my childhood look bad. 3rd day in America, I feel like I’m in my home land, people talking the right language, weather ain’t bad and I could find pants my size. Heaven.
My brother was giving directions on the map, which is prob why we got lost every 2 seconds, (no GPS, 16 years ago!), and my dad was just excited to drive the car (never mind we weren’t getting anywhere) and pay toll at the bridges. It was like 7pm, somehow (somehow my ass, it was my brother) we made it to Harlem. Now for me Harlem was where all my heroes live (2pac, biggie, my future husband) I got all excited.. My brother freaked out, started yelling in the car: EVERYBODY DUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! My mom acted cool and told my brother to relax, my dad was chilling behind the wheel, I was like, you fucking lost your mind???? Getting shot in Harlem is so much better than exploding on a bus! I’m not missing this one out. We got out of Harlem shortly. I was a bit sad. Gang bangs seemed to have more sex appeal then terrorist bombers.
The trip wend good. We flew to Orlando, Florida. I throw up all the way to our first hotel. I might have over did it with the free food on the plain. I get like that with free food. The good news, I got to meet Goofy, I think I was in-love with that dog for a couple of years so that was a first dream coming true. I loved America, people kept saying please, thank you, excuse me, being polite and shit. I was like wow, manners. I kinda wanna live here.
Performing in Harlem does give me hope that maybe some day we could have some kind of peace on this earth.
Keep Your Head Up!
R
No comments:
Post a Comment