N E W Y O R K C I T Y

[pictures4u]

[ATTACH][ATTACH]133116[/ATTACH][/ATTACH]

 

CASACE RIP

[BrooklynBound]

[BrooklynBound]

[BrooklynBound]

[BrooklynBound]

[whitesupremacist]

[BrooklynBound]

[whitesupremacist]

[BrooklynBound]

[Juse One]

I miss NYC.

[pictures4u]

[ATTACH]133120[/ATTACH]

[twonpoo]

 

ayoooo, niggaz are actually paying for stickers with other writers names on them?

 

thats sorta gay. This is whats poppin in the streetz?

 

I dunno bout any of you, but I work hard to make my rent, I don't have money to spend on such things. On a list of priorities of where to put my bread, I think this would be somewhere between buying a manbag and taking a cab to Philly.

 

 

it must be nice.

[williemayeshayes]

is that miss mabel?

[twonpoo]

who?

[BROOKLYNS_FINEST]

pour it up

 

 

[BROOKLYNS_FINEST]

[BROOKLYNS_FINEST]

[BROOKLYNS_FINEST]

[baack9]

:lol: :lol: :lol: .... nothing online is private papo! but funny

 

SEX ON FRIDAY is pussy and a taco eating fiend

[culinaryhyperversity]

 

good for one chuckle

[XxthakingofqueenzXx]

sup bitches

[XxthakingofqueenzXx]

 

good for one chuckle

 

lol this shit again

[XxthakingofqueenzXx]

[Miyagi San]

Saludos desde venezuela! The cra'ck crew.

[AONES WTO]

 

10:19 P.M., Canal Street, Manhattan: SONI and SLICK

They pay your way home from The Door at night after the train pass is no good. They have to. You run a school that doesn't open until two in the afternoon, nobody goes home until eight or nine o'clock, the subway pass has been dead for two hours already.

A man from The Door had escorted them to the subway station. He handed them tokens and watched them pass through the tumstiles. "JA'S got this tunnel on the Number One line between Columbus Circle and 66th Street," says SLICK. "He hangs out there. We go fuck him up." "How we gonna know if he's even there?" asks SONI. "He's got a whole wall of tags there in the tunnel," says SLICK. "The whole thing, man, every piece of it is his. We could buff him good."

"Yo, we don't know that area too good," says AUDI. "I'm not down for that."

"Nah, man," says SLICK. "We got to."

"Yo, he tagged up SLICK'S house, we gotta come back at him," says SONI, who, though dubious, is sensitive to his friend's slight. After all, SLICK has gotten into this thing because of SONI. This has been SONI'S beef with JA, and SLICK sort of got dragged into it. Now he has been dissed, seriously. That's the lowest thing you can do to another writer, paint on his house.

AUDI should know this, man. SONI couldn't say it in front of SLICK. It's bad enough for SLICK.

"See? All right, man, be that way," says SLICK. "Yo, man, I gotta go," says AUDI. He leaves them as they wait for a train uptown, to JA'S turf. "Later," says SONI. "Later," says SLICK. "Let's find JA."

 

10:30 P.M., Upper West Side, Manhattan: JA

A retarded move, JA tells himself. At least from what he had' been told. Personally, he doesn't remember anything before he woke up on the road, cars screeching to a stop near his head. But SMITH had been there, watched the whole thing. And SMITH said when he saw JA take the leap, he thought about having to call JA'S mother and tell her that he had died. Ridiculous fucking thing to have done. JA had been drunk. Spifflicated drunk. All he knows is that he had been with SMITH, on the ramps approaching the Lincoln Tunnel, scoping out places to tag. There was a very sweet-looking highway sign, directly above the six lanes of traffic leading to the tunnel. To get there, he'd had to jump about four or five feet from a street that overlooked it, then land on the frame of the sign. "You almost made it," SMITH had said. The moment he hit the pavement 15 feet below, trucks careening and cars screeching, marked the end of a forty-eight-hour frenzy of graffiti tagging all over the city. It had started on that predawn morning he'd tagged SLICK'S house. "When you get the momentum going, it's like a fuel-you go on like a crack binge-with graffiti, not crack," JA later explained. That was six days ago. So tonight, he is staying home in the splendid apartment on 86th Street, where a decorator's hand shows in every room. Except his lair .He keeps the mattress on the floor. In his oak roll top desk are spray cans of paint. The oak cabinets built into the wall hold giant cans of spray paint, collector's quality: very hard to purchase, heavy-duty industrial-size cans that you could never find in the store. JA is king.

With a flick of the remote, MTV barrels into the room, through the stereo speakers of the television. He turns the page on a magazine, and wriggles his toes. They're sticking out of the plaster cast they'd put on to keep his knee in one place. Pain in the ass.

 

R.I.P SONI SLICK U5 501

[XxthakingofqueenzXx]

always dug this throw

 

[DOODOOBROWN]

 

ratatouille

[skeez ball]

 

good for one chuckle

 

hahaha

[P I N H E A D]

raccoon eye pin!

 

wtf that shit means....smh got a ticket for drinking i need 2 stay out the streets be and its same court day i got in queens now gotta make 2 trips but who ever was that bombin on 4 line got his paint and pack of newports taken and i dont even smoke fuck out of here u aint rocking on roofs while im out here in the bx lmfao

[FOX5NEWS]

Yo wat it iz with "Ader everbody say dis nigga is a Rat WTF he did?