Ice Cube is blasting from rental cars, Mercs and Beamers park and rock;
(Soft tops of course.)
The hot dog stall is in the car park and the guy is putting out a “Halal “sign…
“It’s their Christmas” he explains.
The queue winds round the car park. It’s a mix of Goths and Gang-stars, boys wearing make up and girls in groups shouting at passing cars… red lipstick asking for a Christmas kiss.
Inside it’s hip-hop upstairs and rock down. We meet in the bar (where they play both), the bouncers are relaxed in bomber jacket/bow tie combos; finger-less gloves and sovereign rings.
“These boys don’t drink…. Never any trouble;”
They stare at Kal who is swigging on an alcopop and smirking
“Who’s that for?”
“Who do you think?”…
(Eyebrows rise in mock horror)
“I’m a Hindu dickhead”
The Buzzcocks scratch mix into BDP. It’s the change over.
Kal gives a comedy sigh of relief.
It’s a classic I tell him and he’s laughing
Buzzcocks? ”Shit beats”
We look each other up and down. He is disgusted by my pants and tells me so. His, hang way down, L.A. pen style, with Tommy Hilf over the waist and under the ribs.
“How come we look better than you lot?”
Track suits and Chelsea boots mix at the urinals.
Nike sweats and leather blazers brush at the bandit.
The soundtrack bounces backwards and forwards:
Jurassic 5/Smiths/Public Enemy/Stone Roses.
And so it goes on…until:
“ It wasn’t me she was fooling/cos she knew what she was doing/when she told me how to…”
Walk this way.
Everyone loves walk this way…
The bouncers are playing air guitar in approval.
The murmur at the fag machine goes down; heads are moving in time and
Sometimes… Sometimes it just works; everyone is in it together.
Kal has his arms folded around his chest, Reverend Run style.
“Thing is…………We’re all Paki’s here”
I nod and price up a Halal burger and a taxi.
It’s one or the other.
Time for me to exit
(Terminator X it)