Updated: Dec 7, 2019
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BUCK 50 (a slice on your face)
I ain't gonna lie. It was my fault. Me and a buddy of mine were out bar hoppin one night. We were both wasted and needed a cigarette to chase the liquor. This is NYC. The place where a pack of squares will cost you 12 bucks. So cats (and most bodegas in the hood) sold loose cigarettes called Lucy's for 50 cents apiece. The same hustle that got Eric Gardner killed over on Staten Island.
I knew a spot where there was usually a couple of guys sellin them a few blocks away from us over on 40th Ave.
When me an my guy reach the spot we see three young guys sittin on crates near a payphone close to the curb.
My friend stayed back while I walk up to them and ask them if they have some Lucy's. Being drunk, I don't remember exactly what they said but the guy having a slice of pizza said something along the lines of GTFOH.
There was an extra crate across from the smart ass who made the slick comment. I sat down across from him and said, Who the fuck you think you talkn too like that? I just ask you for a Lucy's nigga.
He responds with a mouth full of pizza. 'Don't you know you can get fucked up around here?'
Before I could respond another guy walks up to us. A big light skinned black dude carrying a slice of pizza on a greasy paper plate.
I had seen this one before. His name was Karate Joe. I'd only seen him once before a few years ago. I did not know much about him except that he was blood. But I didn't care.
Joe came to my side and sat down on another crate. One of the smart asses told Joe what was going on and what was said. Joe with a mouth full of greasy dollar pizza said. 'You know you can get fucked up out here right?'
I had enough. I jump up and started raining blows down on his fat head. I hit him tree times flush in the face. Then took off down 41st street towards the west side. I knew that if I stayed the long, his two buddy's were gonna start attacking me from my rear, a position I did not want to be in. So I ran. Laughing while I did so. I was still drunk and everything was like a game.
But things got real once I slowed down and turned to see his two friends chancing me. I, to this day, don't why I thought they wouldn't run after me. I guess it was arrogance and the booze.
When I turned, they reacted more surprised than I was. The two stopped dead in their tracks and kept a distance of about six feet away.
I'd picked a hell of a spot to stop. Looking around for something to use as a weapon. I realized that I was in the middle of 41st street. Nowhere near any trash cans that might have a bottle or something. And there was not so much as a stick or rock anywhere around.
I wasn't about to fight these two heads up. I was really tired by this point and knew that Karate Joe would catch up soon.
I look over my shoulder. About a half a block is an apartment building with a guard station in the lobby. I saw a big chrome and black chair behind the security's desk. I went for it. It was a flat run for all of us. Me going for something to fight with. Them going for me.
I reach the well lit lobby. All its walls were high glass windows that reach all the way up to the ceiling. With only a three foot metal frame along the bottom.
I run behind the security desk and achieved my goal of retrieving a weapon. Any weapon.
When I ran inside. The security guard was at his post. Standing beside the big black and chrome chair.
He was speechless. It all happened so fast. The moment I picked up the chair, two of the guys from the corner had burst into the lobby.
From then on it was a fight for survival. I threw the chair as hard as I could at the kid closest to me. Hitting him flush. With the entire body of the chair.
I charge the second one. Resisting the urge to slam him to the ground. I chose to warm up my hands first and square up with him. It was over in a few swift, hard blows to his face. I'd realized the both of them were shmaller than I was. So I had no problems throwing my wait around.
The problems started when Karate Joe stormed into the building. It was like once we saw one another. The other two instinctively backed off to let the two of go at it man to man.
Joe weighed far more than I did. And he's just as tall. But just like his comrade, his hands were no match for mine. Hooks and overhands rights proved my point.
In a fight, when you lose the contest of boxing. The only thing to do is wrestle. Charge the guy low, and try to 'scoop' him on his back. Which is exactly what happened.
When Joe made his desperate charge he plowed into me full force. Knocking me back against the glass walls with such force, that our combined weight caused the entire glass wall to shattered!
Me being on the receiving end of the charge, and having my back to the wall. I of course took the brunt of the collapsing glass.
I fall over the three foot metal floorboards. Landed on my back. With the back of my knees hooked over the top of the now jagged floorboard.
It all sounds painful. But when your in the middle of a brawl of this magnitude, adrenaline works better and faster than morphine. Plus. Your in the middle of something. Distracted further by trying to live.
Under the circumstances I did good. With the two wanting no part of my hands it's just me and Karate Joe battling out.
Still bent backwards with this Goliath on top of me, I knew to hold on to his wrist so he wouldn't be able to land any good punches.
By this time, Joe and myself are bleeding profusely.
All of a sudden. The security guard screams, 'The police are here! y'all better stop!'
With black folks, that's the signal to disperse. But not before the box-cutter came out. One of the other guys bent over me and sliced my face with the razor. From my ear to my mouth. Then they ran.
Blood was everywhere. Everywhere.
True story, written by, -jonathan 'deez nuts' riley