I know way too many people here right now, that I didn’t know last year, who the fuck are y’all? I’m living life right now, and that’s what Imma do ‘till its over, but its far from over.
Yeah. Those are some of the lyrics for Over. I know way too many people i didn’t know last year. Who the fuck are y’all?! I swear to God, I don’t remember having French friends. Actually, I never pictured myself living in France, speaking French with the French. Nevertheless, there I was, hanging out and just letting time pass by.
Wallan, Shems y Kiko knocked the door. Now, when living in exile, only the toughest survive. So, how can you tell if a guy is tough? Alies my friend. Kenya, Ireland, and Sudan had my back. Also, two important keywords are time and place. At that time it was only 1:00 AM. Three months ago, it would’ve been already late, but I’ve manage myself to rearrange my schedule, and even though it was already «the day after», we felt that it was barely 22:00hrs. But when it comes to defining the place, oh la la, hang on, because this shit right here nigga, this shit right here?! With the door opened, and the three frenchman standing in front of it, their world was quickly divided into Heaven, Purgatory, and Hell. Hell meaning cold, rainy night; Purgatory meaning the space between my flat and the street; and of course Heaven meaning The Black Hole.
A huge wave of love, warmness and affection hit my new friends in a matter of 5 seconds. The mother nature and its gravity force were pulling the three of them to the insides of L’Ambassade Venezuelienne. A white paper bag was guilty of hiding 70 cl of Smirnoff and 1 lt of Campbell’s. And we, ourselves, were guilty as charged of wasting these opportunities and throwing them into the bucket of forgettable nights. Because sometimes, we’re fooled by our aspirations. Make up, good cloth, the newest perfume, and a perfect and fluent French won’t make him or her a better friend! No, silly boy. So when people is basically killing themselves to own the best looking friends ever, why won’t you give the ugly guy a shot? Why don’t you go ahead and talk to the fat girl instead of going straight to the hottest one as usual, pretending the bestest of intentions and calling yourself the best friend ever, but knowing on the inside that you can’t stop picturing her naked laying on the sand. Life is an overwhelming routine, and it is our job to make it interesting, don’t you think? So, please, and this goes to all of y’all, don’t get scared when a guy says that he did some time. Try to concentrate and forget about those seizure attacks you were going to have 5 minutes ago. Don’t stare at the tooth he is missing, nor his big-ass scar that goes from his left ear to his right elbow. Don’t mention prison, and PLEASE, Do Not Ask Him Why Did He Went There. Because normally, the answers you’ll get wont be: «I stole 50 euros», it would be more like «I was drunk and killed 3 Latin mother fuckers», so just save yourself that trouble and please, once more, don’t start making weird faces when the guys says «Yo habla Español porque aprender en carcel Alicante, Espagna! Yo no soy un puto maricon de mierda».
Ok, so at first, I was scared as hell. The guy poured himself a drink. Vodka with fanta orange. Literally, 3 quarters of vodka, and nearly 2 skinny fingers of soda. He asked me to play a song for him. Locked Up – Akon Feat Booba. I really don’t think he liked that song out of mere coincidence. «But instead I’m here LOCKED UP!» Damn. I have to admit, i didn’t think i would ever see my TV again. But that’s when I thought twice. This is just a normal guy. And even though I didn’t know why the hell did he go to jail in Alicante, he seemed pretty normal. His friends, which I already knew, seemed to care a lot about him. «il est toujours le clown du groupe, il fait rire tout le monde, mais pas parce qu’il est drôle, mais parce qu’il est toujours mort» He is always the clown of the group, but not because he is funny, but because he is always fucked up.
My good friend Douglas rang me. He was just outside, and when he joined the party, everything turned technicolor. Hypnotized by the green grass of the fifa pitch, and then kept hostages by the red, grey, blue, green, and black poker chips. We played, music and games. We drank, vodka and whisky. «Did you guys ate something?» Hell no! We ate yesterday!
So, get a load of the scene. Good friends paying poker. Three different languages were on the table, but we spoke one that we all understood. It is not French, nor English, or Spanish. Only with a sudden movement of your lips you can let everybody know that your ok. Only with knocking on the table lets them know that you’re checking. Poking the guy next to me on his leg meant, look at the ex-con, he’s going wild! It didn’t matter that the three F’s were born in Lyon. It didn’t matter that the figarriet sitting next to me had nearly 3 passports. Or the fact that the guy wearing the blue top wanted to be a Swiss Guard. Last night, we all came from the same place. We all understood each other, not only for communicating, but we all felt our pain, we all had known pain and suffering at least once before. So no matter how many cultural obstacles we faced, we all acknowledged each other, and even though we were in heaven, it was funny as hell.
Hours passed. So quickly actually. Driven against our will to a underground world of rap francais and an all-u-can-drink contest. Betting, drinking, cursing, using God’s name in vain, among others; «Shame On You», Rastafari cried from up above. My man Willy, or Wallan, was still standing. «T’est Possede!», they yelled at him, but he couldn’t process a better answer than «estoy loco amigo, muy loco. El Pollo Loco!». He was walking straight forward until he ran into the tulip field. The sun was up and the annoying sound of real life was trying to mess our stereo up, but we didn’t let him. Tuned a little Rasta and started to sing. My man Alborosie left, but that didn’t stop us. True, we were missing one guy, but suddenly I stopped missing him and started to look at the B.I.G couch I had just for me-self.
7:00 AM. Almost over. Still had energy. Shit, if Wallan had energy, I might as well. Monday morning and les boulangeries already started to tempt us. Our good new friends gently invited us to go after that bitch they call Bakery and show her how real men eat, but thats the thing about living above a big hill, once you walk it down, you really don’t want to return, and much more if you just ingested two croissants au chocolate and five madeleines with a mug full of hot chocolate. So the offer didn’t sound that interesting. At least for me and for the Swiss Guard that was going to crash at my place.
12 Rounds. Action movie. Its impossible, no matter how early or late it is, to fall asleep. Not possible! Shoved the dvd into the playstation. «Turn off the lights man». Movie preview after movie preview. When the menu finally showed up: «Pon la pelicula pues!» Where’s the controller? Shit I don’t know man, by the tv. Fuck it. We both stared at the tv for several minutes. Next thing i remember, its was 10:00 am and I was heading to my bed to lay there for the next 8 hours. Now, it is 17:01, and these walls have another story to tell. Another secret to keep. Another story of 6 guys being guys. But most important than walls, WE have another story to tell. «Remember that day in your house that we were playing poker with the figarrietz, the french excon from Alicante, and Douglas?» Try to do that. Wake up and make up your mind. Make decisions, say to yourself «tomorrow, I’ll have another story to tell». You’ll see my friends, that after you do that, a day without an interesting story is like unsalted french fries or cake without icing.
C.
Ps: ☀ Wallan really went to prison because he was in Alicante, Spain clubbing, met a girl, did what he had to do, then his friend did the same, and the friend of his friend also. Later on,when they were leaving, the girl asked if she could had a lift to her place. They didn’t have enough gas, nor orientation, and kindly refused. The bitch went to the police and said that three guys just raped her. Ain’t that a bitch? ☀ I wrote in English just for a friend. Don’t get used to it.
Cosas, Casas y un Queso Blanco 