best wishes go out to all of y'all who roll that shit, light that shit, and smoke it from me, bpd, the homie with the clout.
going back more than a few years before i had a steady supply of california medical crop, me and my friends used to scour southern california for the stickiest and the stinkiest. for some reason all of the local hooks were dry so i called the homie trouble in the OC in hopes of relief.
trouble tells me that the OC is beat but he knows of this joint in LA that's always on point. we roll out and before you can say "sixteen switches" we're exiting the 105 freeway and heading north into eight trey gangster crip territory.
a lot of noise has been made about the whole blood-crip rivalry, all of which is based on fact but in the early 90's the bloods were pretty much reduced to the periphery. most of the violence was between two crip sets, eight trey and the rolling 60's. we're talking about hundreds upon hundreds of shootings and deaths that took place over the course of the 1980's and 90's.
trouble drives us up to a 8 ft chain link fence that's topped with razor wire. the fence has a black lining so that you can't see in from the outside. trouble steps out and says a few things into the squak box before a section of the fence rolls to the side and we drive in.
the scene was straight out of a music video. custom painted g rides sporting white walls and daytons were being detailed and there were snarling, drooling rottweilers restrained by thick chains. the set was rolling deep and only a damn fool would try and pull some shit. but for all intents and purposes, things looked to be legit. just a neighborhood car detailing shop that was a little heavy on security. i did my best to walk into their shop maintaining a gangsta lean but ditching the gangsta glare.
me and trouble walk into the shop where he's greeted by some dude and i try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. inside the shop was obviously where the shit goes down. there's black garbage bags full of sticky icky. leaning against the corner is a bunch of ak's. i come to learn later that trouble knows the spot through our homie white boy john, who was responsible for selling the clicka brand-new chinese manufactured ak's. there's a couple money counting machines but the cash was hidden. and so on and so on.
the transaction was quick and all-pro. trouble hands over the skrilla and we get a ziplock baggie. no offer to hang out, smoke a joint, and watch the lakers was extended nor was it expected. the business was conducted and we turned and left. it wasn't till we got in the car and drove out did i remember to breathe.
but the shit was good.
going back more than a few years before i had a steady supply of california medical crop, me and my friends used to scour southern california for the stickiest and the stinkiest. for some reason all of the local hooks were dry so i called the homie trouble in the OC in hopes of relief.
trouble tells me that the OC is beat but he knows of this joint in LA that's always on point. we roll out and before you can say "sixteen switches" we're exiting the 105 freeway and heading north into eight trey gangster crip territory.
a lot of noise has been made about the whole blood-crip rivalry, all of which is based on fact but in the early 90's the bloods were pretty much reduced to the periphery. most of the violence was between two crip sets, eight trey and the rolling 60's. we're talking about hundreds upon hundreds of shootings and deaths that took place over the course of the 1980's and 90's.
trouble drives us up to a 8 ft chain link fence that's topped with razor wire. the fence has a black lining so that you can't see in from the outside. trouble steps out and says a few things into the squak box before a section of the fence rolls to the side and we drive in.
the scene was straight out of a music video. custom painted g rides sporting white walls and daytons were being detailed and there were snarling, drooling rottweilers restrained by thick chains. the set was rolling deep and only a damn fool would try and pull some shit. but for all intents and purposes, things looked to be legit. just a neighborhood car detailing shop that was a little heavy on security. i did my best to walk into their shop maintaining a gangsta lean but ditching the gangsta glare.
me and trouble walk into the shop where he's greeted by some dude and i try to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. inside the shop was obviously where the shit goes down. there's black garbage bags full of sticky icky. leaning against the corner is a bunch of ak's. i come to learn later that trouble knows the spot through our homie white boy john, who was responsible for selling the clicka brand-new chinese manufactured ak's. there's a couple money counting machines but the cash was hidden. and so on and so on.
the transaction was quick and all-pro. trouble hands over the skrilla and we get a ziplock baggie. no offer to hang out, smoke a joint, and watch the lakers was extended nor was it expected. the business was conducted and we turned and left. it wasn't till we got in the car and drove out did i remember to breathe.
but the shit was good.
VIEW 10 of 10 COMMENTS
So, is that offer for E3 still good?