Marmar and I decided during one of our days in Amsterdam that we wanted to see the real thing -- the place where hip-hop began, home of Puff Daddy, Langston Hughes, and recently, Bill Clinton. So we hopped on our bikes and rode southwest outta Amsterdam, along the canals and past a few honest-to-goodness windmills...
When we got to Haarlem, we were totally shocked. Where were the drug-corners? The drive-bys? Where was the Danger Zone that Big L used to talk about, with bitches, hos, and pimed-out rides? All we saw was gorgeous neo-classical architecture, clean streets, and people dressed in freshly-pressed Lacoste!
We rolled up to the club, expecting to get crunk, or at least a little hyphy, but found only craft wheat beers and portraits by Flemish masters...
Marmar got a little crunk, anyway, to liven up the bikeride home...
Where was the fried chicken? All we found were smoked herring sandwiches. And yes, Lunzaat's herring was in a class apart, but we were looking to suck on some marrow with our 40s. Shee-yit.
What a weird, confusing trip.
No comments:
Post a Comment