By J.J. Colagrande

01_thelonious-horowitz19After dippin Teflon I hit up 7B. My ass planned on flexin to the music festival and I had to set it straight with Hurricane Clout. Only Diamonds came through for a late morning drink. Chopshop couldn’t come through cause him and his baby’s momma were going somewhere in Brooklyn. I’m not worried about Chopshop. He’ll rebound from Hurricane Clout, kid got mad skillz. Lee also couldn’t make it to 7B. He works at some bookstore on Broadway, said he had to cover some shift. Leroi Jones is a decent deejay, probably the weakest of all three, but he can mix well and has a good ear for fades. Kid’s hella smart just his heart ain’t into music. He prefers writing. He’ll probably wind up a teacher out on Strong Island. So that morning just me and Diamonds were drinkin cause we gots the rock star steez. Fuckin Diamonds! Diamonds moved to Manhattan from the Bay Area like five years ago. I know him from Trinity. Back-in-the-day the kid rolled up all lanky, sort of awkward, like the Raiders hat he rocked at a weird angle. He turned me onto West Coast hip-hop; bands like Blackalicious, Aceyalone, Abstract Rude. Only annoying thing with D is that the kid be sweatin niggas. Like that day at 7B he dropped a line about seeing Al Pacino in some coffee shop. Diamonds acted all-that, all like Al said he’s in town rehearsing for Salome, off-Broadway. Yo, like get off his dills, you don’t know the dude. Fakin da funk da bunk punk…that’s just D—it’s all-good in Hurricane Clout’s hood. My plans were to be back in New Yaawk in a few days for the gig at LIT. That’s what I told Diamonds. And that’s what I told Chopshop and Leroi Jones. You just never know, son. You just nevah know.

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