"Heah das no coconut water, no mango, no fruits from da trees, no sun, no ganja leaves."

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12049563.post-1114732396632701862005-04-29T00:52:00.000+01:002005-05-03T15:40:18.953+01:00"Heah das no coconut water, no mango, no fruits from da trees, no sun, no ganja leaves."<img src="http://photos7.flickr.com/11395405_4578ae33d7.jpg" alt="Example" /> Gang Gang Dance live at the Spitz April 26, 2005 Pumping arms flung beers half-hazardly into a heady cumulus of second-hand smoke. Plastic cups exploded under heels and miniature lightning bolts from personal electronics struck from all sides. All around there was mass hairdo meltdown as the whir and whoop, thump and fuzz of Gang Gang took hold. Sean said it was the best show he'd ever seen them play. White Magic, who also played, performed a great cover of an Ethiopian song. Later that evening some people went to a not so nice place called Mother Bar in Shoreditch, where everyone goes to settle with the devil, as it is one of the only bars in London open past the witching hour. Brian, being much smarter than most people, decided it would be more fun to stand in the cold for three hours by the tour van than to patronize Mother Bar-- and though it sounds like I'm being a smart ass, it was in fact the Buddha-given truth. Brian, Josh, sometimes Sean, sometimes Doug and I perched near the van and talked about this and that and apartments and people and jobs and love and friendships and NYC vs London. No one had fire, so people were forced to chain smoke and then we passed the time making sneaker prints near a patch of fresh tar while some people took turns smuggling pints out of Mother Bar to share on the sidewalk. Best of all we met Phillip, a 51 year old Jamaican man who wanted to smoke da ganja with us, but we didn't have any. We were all disappointed when we realized this, but Phillip sang us some beautiful reggae songs any ways and even some love songs just for me. We gave him all our change and he let us use his lighter and told us stories about Jamaica and the sea and the birds and the fruits and the sands and the ganja walk from here to there--all da way to da train station. It sounded so beautiful that we all said let's go! Let's go! Come on Phillip! But the van couldn't get us there so we had to part with promises to meet again some day under the Jamaican sun.A Strangernoreply@blogger.com