Be is for Brixton

So the blogword is “Be.” And Be is for Brixton, an area of South London, part of the London Borough of Lambeth. It is bordered by Stockwell, Kennington, Camberwell, Tulse Hill and Herne Hill. But that’s all beside the point.

And what was I doing in Brixton, you might ask (and rightly so). Well, I was NOT buying black market arms and ammunition. The brother and I were attempting to rendezvous with old school friend Adnan (drummer boy formerly of Aaroh fame, for those that know and care) who I hadn’t seen in almost 7 years. He was doing the education thing in London, kind of like how I’m doing the education thing in Columbus, except his education thing was more English, being in England and all.

Anyway, cutting to the chase, we were supposed to meet Adnan at 12 noon, but Einstein had both his phones off so the brother and I chilled at Brixton Station for a while, trying not to get mugged, then we tubed it to Victoria Station where we chilled some more. It was beginning to look like a day of solitary chilling when Adnan finally answered his phone. At 2 pm, we headed back to Brixton. From there was had to catch a bus to High Towers, which I kept calling Three Towers, to the confusion of our eventual bus driver. But that's also beside the point.

It was raining. I stood under the bus stop shelter no doubt kindly provided by the London Borough of Lambeth. The brother ventured into the nearby Woolworth’s to purchase a phone card. So there I was, outside, people walking around, quite a bubbling stretch of pavement. And it began.

This huge African-American… English-American… African-Englishman… black fellow – he was about 8 feet tall – came and stood right next to me. He was joined a few seconds later by another 8-footer on my other side. Was I about to be mugged? A "victim"? Did I smell bad? They were whispering “skunk skunk” under their breaths. But I had showered that same morning!!

Suddenly a crowd gathered around us… a shifty crowd… a crowd that was up to no good… a crowd of black, white and brown though. They whispered, “Five,” “Ten.” And the giants opened up their jackets to reveal bags upon bags of marijuana/weed/hash/grass/Mary Jane. Rapid transfers took place. Bags for cash. And I was so far in the middle of it – backpack and all – I couldn’t see anything but people and weed all around me.

This would be a great time for a raid by London's finest.

Panic.

Hasty exit from Circle of Illegal Substance Transactions.

Bus! Brother! Escape!

Adnan later told us “skunk” is the code word drug dealers in Brixton use to let potential buyers know they have the “goods” as it were. So I smelled just fine, thank you very much.

And I end with a short poem.

Be is for Brixton
We is for Weed
8 foot tall drug dealers
Have got what you need

Erm… or not? *nervous chuckle*