Now, I want to tell you about my neighbourhood. My philosophical thoughts on the subject began when I realised I could see my shitty creekside suburb from Nas' harbourside penthouse apartment, during our intense architecture social club party. The apartment remained relatively undamaged, considering people passed out in the corridor, had sex in the fire escape and the beds and bathtub, and did cocaine in the toilets. The main recipient of the cocaine, Amir, used the word postmodern at least 50 times throughout the night.
Anyway, I'm getting distracted. Last night (the day following the big party) we had a quiet weed smoking session at my house, with my housemate and his friends. It was all fine, but then sometime after we got stoned, (only about 9PM), I heard some drunk yelling/talking/warbling from the front of the house. Some strange co-incidence had brought an obvious drug dealer to our house, who was absolutely smashed. We gave him directions to the suburb he had lost (across the creek) and grifted about 10 buds of marajuana from him- he was carrying phreshly cut weed in a plastic shopping bag.
Every day, when I ride west I go through the park where the prostitutes pick up. Everyone knows you might get randomly shot at if you go there at night, so I don't, but even during the day I always see this dealer incessantly doing laps around the running track, bumbag bouncing as he goes. I've seen him do deals too; I think he deals ecstacy. So this is where I live now- the park is 2 blocks from my house, the bridge across the creek is even closer. Up in that penthouse at the harbour is where you do the classier drugs, but down in the valley is where the business is done, and you can sit in your backyard and smell the pot waft in the air from the backyards of your neighbours, all of which you can see into. Your neighbours say hi from across the street, and it's handy to get on with them, because you have to share the public phone with them and if you're lucky, they might give you a racing bike.
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