I’m cruising in my ‘92 BMW 325is. The fucked up cut spring suspension bounces and squeals with every turn. The 17” chrome rims make the ride as rough as can be. I don’t care, I’ve got two 12” subwoofers in the back, I just blast my dirty, dark, grimy DnB tracks and I can’t hear thing.

I was riding through Oakland. Had to to stop by E-Z Discount market (at least, that’s what they call it now). We just called it “the spot”. I was only 20, but they would sell liquor to anyone.

My grimy beats fell silent. Despite my BMW’s purple paint job, my bright yellow Phat Farm shorts, and my red spiky hair, fellas chillin on the street never paid much attention to me. I strolled on into the spot, but before I made it to the door I heard someone scream my name, “MAAAAXXXXX!!!!” Oh damn, I knew who that was, that was Mary, everyone called her Mary Mack. Mary Mack had skin as white as egg shells, but she thought of herself as anything but Caucasian. I guess she was trying to fit in. It’s tough being white or biracial in East Oakland. She was a streetwalker, or a “hoe”, as she liked to be referred to, but only if you were gonna be her “man”.

“What’s up Ms. Mack!”
“Hey Maxie Pants! What you got for me today?”
“Me, huh, I got some singles for you, here you go.”
“Thank you baby.”

Damn, that was my blunt wrap change, but Ms. Mack was aight. I’ve got appreciation for anyone who will give me the time of day politely. I turn and head to the back where all the glorious liquor was stocked. Boom! One bottle of Cook’s Champagne, one fifth of Erk and Jerk Brandy, and two bottles of Cisco (one red/one orange)! You see, girls between 18-20 are officially adults, but can’t drink, so you mix up some champagne and brandy for them and you are the man! The Cisco was for later, my buddies all call it liquid crack.


I can see Mary Mack over my shoulder trying to turn the singles I gave her into a jug of Carlos Rossi wine. She was pleading with the store owner for a partial loan. I liked the store owner, I never caught his real name, but everyone called him Dice. Everybody made middle-eastern jokes about Dice, even though he was from Indonesia. Dice was about 5’2”, always had a Newport hanging out of his mouth, and he hated to talk in his broken English. We have established a cool way of communicating through nods and grunts. Dice somehow made it clear that Mary Mack could have a half-jug of wine, so she made her way back to make her selection.

POW! The front entrance door shattered, I clutched my liquor as tight as I could, a man who must have been seven feet tall burst through the few remaining shards of glass in the door. The sawed off shotgun in his hands was smoking like in the wild west movies. “GIVE ME THE FUCKN MONEY!” Seven foot tall dude shouted at Dice. Dice looked at Dude unfazed, his Newport held steady between his lips, the ash on his half-smoked cigarette remained in place. “CAN YOU HEAR ME MOTHER FUCKER? GIVE ME THE MONEY!” Dude looks at me, I look at him, Dude looks at Dice....Dice doesn’t give a shit, he’s not moving. Mary Mack taps me on my leg, she’s squatting in the wine aisle, “Give me your champagne” she whispers, tugging it from my hands before I can even think. Mary disappears behind the end of the aisle.

I turn, Dude and Dice are having the staring contest of a lifetime. Dude cocks his shotgun, he’s towering over Dice, his sweat is beading up, I can see my pale reflection in the droplets on his forehead. Dice is standing there with his hands in his pockets, he’s nothing but cool, all that remains of his cigarette are two inches of ash.


“Try this on for size dickhead!” Holy shit, is that Ms. Mary Mack? We all turn to look behind me. There’s Ms. Mack, on all fours, with her big bare behind staring back at us, my bottle of champagne shoved halfway up her ass. I turn back, Dude’s shotgun pointed at the ground, his mouth wide open. Dice is staring at Dude, his left eye leaning in Ms. Macks direction, he let’s out a little cough. Poof! The ash from his cigarette explodes into a flurry, I look back at Ms. Mack.

It felt like slow motion, FOP! The champagne bottle flipped out of Ms. Mack’s rear and skidded across the ground like a bowling pin after a strike. A geyser-like explosion of champagne sprayed out of her ass with Brut force. I shielded myself from the horizontal flood, feeling sprinkles on the back of my neck. I look at Dude, he dropped the shotgun, holding his hands out for protection, but the overwhelming shower could not be escaped. The spray had subsided and Dude was turning his hands back and forth, taking in the fact that he was officially a recipient of an expelled alcoholic enema. Dice was crouching down behind the counter.

I drop the two bottles of Cisco....they shatter on the floor, this snaps Dude out of his trance. I freak and try to bolt for the door, only to slip on Ms. Mary Mack’s cocktail. My head falls back, my legs go up, my foot makes direct contact with Dude’s chin, he’s out for the count. Dude’s cheek is pressed hard into the floor, but he’s still breathing, spit and shitty champagne bubbles build up around his face.


Dice pops up behind the counter and gives me a nod of approval and a look that says, “you better get the fuck out of here.” I look back at Ms. Mary Mack, she’s swapping her half-jug of wine for a full jug like nothing happened.

I run out the door, throw my bottle of Erk and Jerk in the passenger seat and smash out back towards Oakland. With the money I saved on the liquor, I had just enough for some purple sticky-icky. My friends would never believe me, I’d come up on a fifth of brandy and some bud, but how would I explain the champagne and shit that lingered on my back collar?