Its late on a  Friday night at the Oyin warehouse, deep in the cut of east Baltimore. Our building sits at the crossroads of gentrification and the HOOD as popularized on tv and movies. We are literally on the other side of the tracks as a train runs directly behind our building.

I’ve been very conscious  of what music I get into my child’s rhythm and I recently realized I haven’t really listened to Gnarls Barkley’s new album. I mean I’ve played it but I really haven’t sat with it. So I make the decision that that’s the sound track to our ride home tonight. He’s up and in a particularly laughy  mood.

I put it on random. The first song was WOULD BE KILLER.

We lock the gate and drive off…  almost immediately I see the most brilliant sparkling lights in the rear view

They are coming from a very unassuming minivan

I drive on for like half a block before I realize it was me they wanted.

 

 

I pull over next to a group of disheveled abandoned row houses that has the words “Baltimore Believe” hand painted across the boarded front windows.

The people behind us get out of their car, obviously plain clothes cops.

Every black person I know knows that adrenaline rush when you hear them behind you regardless of if you’re guilty of breaking a law. The walk from the car to you is the longest walk in the world.

Do I reach over and turn off the radio

Do I sit still

Do I take the intimidating bass (of which I posses none) out of my voice

I think about Sean Bell

Rodney King

Amadou Diallo

Abner Louima

The Klan

I think about the time a cop put a gun to the back of my head.

I think about the time a cop pulled a gun on me going into the front door of my house and how I slowly had to explain that was were I lived and how slowly and deliberately I had to pull out my keys.

I think about the night I was yanked off a subway platform and  thrown in  jail for no reason

I think about the disgust of relief I felt knowing they could have charged me with anything

I think about how they can kill and not get punished

I think about the true meaning of terrorism

Terrorism takes place in the mind of the terrorized

I think about my son

I think about my wife

I think about my son

I think about my son

And for the first time ever there is no fear in my heart. None.

As a matter of fact I became a level of pissed I usually save for when I drive off.

I indignantly roll down the window. If that’s even possible with power windows.

And believe me I tried to be shook but there was no fear in my heart.

He asked mundane questions then I started to cut him off… answering questions he didn’t ask yet. I ended it with “where were you diligent officers last month when someone broke into our warehouse?” 

We exchange fake smiles he looks in the back seat and tells us to take our child home  A child who was actually laughing the entire time

The window goes back up the light changes we drive off and turn up the music WHOS GONNA SAVE MY SOUL NOW  rocks and I had to listen to two verses before either of us started to speak.  I went into what could best be described as a stand up routine for the next 3 or 4 songs. We laughed shared stories through mirror reflections driving  though empty streets like a needle in the grooves of record all the while letting the night be cosigned by the soundtrack.

And then I saw it

The song playing was NO TIME SOON

On a  pole

A street team advertising poster for what I can only assume is an album

I slowed to get a better look

And there it is in big letters: the word ‘CRACK’ and below it has a release date

That’s it.

I wanted to stop the car fall to  my knees fists in the air  and scream to the imaginary camera looking down on me from the heavens

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Who put this up?

CRACK!!?!? Really ?

Crack has a release date?

Who knew?

Some one should tell those under cover cops.

Jamyla had to talk me out of stopping the car and ripping down ever one of those posters. I listen to what she has to say then

I think of my son

I think of my son

I think of my son

Please believe if I was alone and it wasn’t 1:00 in the morning it would be a repeat of the notorious lil kim street team poster massacre  of 2000

We laugh and talk the rest of the way home.

Crying inside that ‘CRACK’ is going to be someone’s OLD SCHOOL memory of hip hop, smiling inside that so will GNARLS  BARKLEY.

As I pull up to my drive way A LITTLE BETTER  comes on. I turn it up and we just sit there. Smiling

I think I love this album

I think about my wife

I think about my son

and we try to sneak him in the house with out waking him

up .