His lyrics were somewhat limited, consisting mostly of mutherfuckers and sons-of-bitches and pussies. But my favorite was a piece entitled “Your Ride,” a fifteen-minute epic made up of only those two words.
I was lucky enough to have him sit down next to me shortly after this picture was taken (I was worried that he’d somehow seen me taking it, but he didn’t let on if he did).
He asked my name.
He asked what my book was about.
For a split second I considered letting myself fall into a conversation with this guy, no doubt he had an interesting story. But we were only at Sepulveda and I wasn’t convinced I could make it 26 blocks without it getting weird. So I continued to read, pretending my iPod was too loud to hear his questions. He returned to his rapping.
Guess who was a little surprised she didn’t get shived on the way out the bus doors?
gretch
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