Thursday, February 09, 2006

My Ipod Wrote a Short Story....

Today I thought I'd try something new. I was trying to do something different. So, without further ado, I would like to present a short story written with the titles of the last 5 songs that randomly played on my ipod on my way to work this morning.

Amber didn't like to do much during the week. Due to her mundane job at an accounting firm, and the lack of social life, Amber had become a recluse. She had t.v. shows that she watched every night of the week, and based all other activities around the shows. The weekends were marginally more exciting. She sometimes would go to a bar and get some drinks with friends, maybe catch an afternoon movie or go for a walk. But mostly she kept it low key.
Then, one Friday as she was getting on the elevator at work to leave for the weekend, she met Dizzee. They had never met before, but had worked in the same building for years, separated by only two floors. By the time the small talk had subsided, both were outside on the way to their cars in the parking lot. Dizzee was going out for a drink right down the street, and asked Amber to go. She agreed and met him there. Dizzee slid up to the bar and ordered his drink, Belvedere vodka and cranberry juice. He asked Amber what she would like to have, and she responded "It Makes no Difference." "Two glasses of Fruit Punch then..." said Dizzee to the bartender.
Amber really liked the drink, and had another. They were really interested in each other because each saw a little piece of themselves in the other person. Dizz invited her back to his place, where he was planning on hanging out with a few friends. They arrived back at his plush yet not overly ostentatious apartment in South Boston to find a few of his friends were there already. Dizz had lived in Southie since he moved there from South London after college. Most of his friends were Londoners living in the States, but he had a few other Irish American friends. If you have been to Southie, you know its hard not to know an Irish person. They are like air; they're everywhere.
Amber followed Dizzee upstairs to his room, the biggest one in the apartment. There was a small balcony attached to his room, and after he took a quick bathroom break, he asked Amber to join him on it. Once out on the porch, Dizzee produced a joint. Amber had never smoked but she knew what it was. "Do you smoke?" asked Dizzee. "No I never have before," replied Amber. Dizzee shot her a quizzical look, and said "Well then, I think its time for your Chronic Intro." He lit it up and passed it to her. She coughed like a mine worker after a cave in, but did alright besides that. She asked him questions about it. How he got it. Where and from who did it come from. He basically told her that his friends downstairs were Graftin'. He went on to explain that graftin'= workin' hard = hustlin'. (Its London slang, same as when rappers say they are out 'grindin' or 'hustin' on the street corner.) While Dizzee held a legit job, his friends made money on the streets graftin'.
After she burnt her finger on the last of the joint, they finished their drinks and went downstairs. But something was different, and it wasn't just that Amber was smoked out. Dizzee's friends, who were there twenty minutes earlier, were nowhere to be seen. Something didnt seem right about it to Amber, but she figured it was the cheeba thinking for her. Then she caught a gleam out of the corner of her eye, and saw Dizzee hit the deck. The next thing she knew, there was someone standing over him, with a gun out. Amber never forgot what she heard next: "I'll Whip Ya Head Boy! You know I will." "What?!?!" shouted Dizzee back at him. "I'll Whip ya head with the back of the steel!" And so he did. He whipped Dizzee until he was out cold, and she saw a little trickle of blood in his brown hair. The man told Amber to leave before it happened to her. Since she didn't know where she really was or how to get home, she wandered the block for what seemed like hours. Being high for the first time made this experience infinitly worse, as she couldn't stop looking back over her shoulder, like she was being followed.
Eventually she saw the man who had whipped Dizzee leaving the house with a huge paper bag, and he got into a waiting car. They made eye contact, but never spoke words to each other again. She was out of options so she went inside to find Dizzee with a frozen bag of vegetables pressed to the back of his head, as he was cutting loose his friends who were tied up in the kitchen. They had been robbed of their stash and all of the proceeds from that stash; a tough hit to take, but at least they were all alive. Dizzee apologized, and paid for Amber's cab home. Although they saw each other sporadically over the next few weeks, neither mentioned the events of that night. And Amber never smoked anything again....

Songs (In Order of Appearence)
Amber by 311
This is a good song for a summer afternoon or a day at the beach.

It Makes No Difference by The Band
This is good song for a warm night and some friends. Go outside, grab a lawn chair and a beer, and just kick it.
The Chronic (Intro) by Dr. Dre & Snoop
The only song where calling someone a "Penguin-lookin muthafucka" sounds hard as fuck.

Graftin' by Dizzee Rascal
I stole his name for this story. If you don't know who he is, download something by him. He is a London rapper, and while I can't understand two words he says, its rap like you have never heard before.
I'll Whip Ya Head by 50 Cent ft. Young Buck
Something about this beat makes me wanna fuck someone up. Also, 50 Cent stopped his Ja Rule impersonation long enough to make a hard song. Young Buck is real nice on the last verse, and you know that all that shit he says he did it last week.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

I work with Adam and feel as though i can comment freely about his writing. Adam, loved the blog thought it was funny as hell. keep it up.

7:39 AM  

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