The Bay

1. The Sirens Go Off
2. The Stash
3. Jingletown
4. Heat
5. Yummy in my Tummy
6. Their Advice
7. Strangers

The Sirens Go Off

The sun was starting to fall asleep as we were at the train tracks. Anthony was talking loudly on the phone with a female he met last week sitting on the blockade separating the train tracks and the street where there is a studio. He was blushing like a rose blooming talking to her. David and I were walking past the train farther and farther away from Anthony to find an empty spot on it. Nobody wants to listen to Anthony while he says cheesy lines. David walked with the backpack full of spray cans and I had the caps on all my pockets. We found a spot right in the middle of the train. We were nervous, we heard loud cars rumble pass on top of us. David and I were hesitant to be the first to start painting. We looked back and forth to each other and the train. David being a younger kid, suggested me too goo first. I nodded and grabbed a can from the backpack. I tested tips on the can, taking my time to not start spraying away. As I began, I shivered like if I had furious ants crawling all over me, bitting my skin making me feel cold. All of a sudden, a motorcycle engine just turned off. We ran. I looked back while running, across the train I could see red and blue lights on the floor and on the bridge on top of us. We heard a distant deep voice on a speaker. David and I dashed to Anthony, the cans in the backpack shaking furiously. He had already climbed the blockade and kept running, leaving us behind. I easily jumped over it, but David was having a hard time. I helped him get up, he then left the backpack by the blockade. we ran and ran. “Stop! Come here! Stop!” is all we heard. We never looked back.

The Stash

We were always good at hiding objects. It was easy to do so. We also collected many different stuff. We were very fond of one of our collections and hiding spots though. This was our best hiding spot we had ever found, it was secret. We decided to use this secret place usefully, with a good collection. So we decided to hide our very special spray cans. Our collection was small, but grew every week. There was a lane right by the fence and house that my parents never went to. Routinely me and Anthony would check our secret collection. We had to squeeze through bags of thrash and machine that my dad had put there.  We then climbed a ladder that was leaned towards our house. We then reached into the gutter to feel all the cans. Eventually we would spray them on the fence just to spell the strong stench of paint in the air. No one knew about our secret place. Only Anthony and I. We would not tell anyone, not even David. Ever since we found out David stole our cans at our old hiding spot, so we did not trust him anymore. No one would ever find our secret stash.

Jingletown

Many people ask me where I live. I always tell them Jingletown. There are two types of responses I get, Where or what is that, and oh. Jingletown is where the trees are alive. Where the main colors are black and yellow, even though no one here wears those ugly color combination besides the bumble bees roaming around. Where the old lady is sitting outside in the day and curious at night looking outside the window to our house. Where cars pass by with twenty inch sparkling silver rims and speakers sounding like a concert shaking the portraits on the wall. Where there is a liquor store in front of my house with a mean and stingy store owner and cashier who won’t even break a ten dollar bill. Where there is a church near by named Maria Auxiliadora and I go to church every Sunday and do some fun community service. It’s always fun, but in every good place there are bullies.

Heat

Shoes, shoes, shoes. All colors, all brands. As many people know from Jingletown, I have amounts of shoes. Jordans, Nikes, Vans, PF Flyers, Chuck Taylor’s, Supras, Creatives, Adidas, you name em’; I’ve had them. All colors to match shirts, outfits, and jeans.

I remember the first time I fell in love with shoes. It was in third grade. I went into a shoe store and some shoes caught my eye. I had never seen these weird shoes, with shiny materials and accents of blue. I stared at them, not touching them, just tared at its glory like it was a gift from God. I looked at its colors. The spoiler was like of a cars, and it had a design on its side panel that was new to me.  My dad came up to me and grabbed my shoulder, but somehow I knew it was him so I didn’t flinch. He looked at the shoes and grabbed them from the wall. I stared at his large hands being pulled toward his body and my head turning up. He asked, “You like these?” I nodded. He turned them and flipped them over and over. He called over a guy with a uniform and talked to him. The guy went through a door, and my dad told me to sit by him. We waited. A while later, the guy came out with a box. The box was silver with a design on top. He handed it to my dad, my dad sat it on his lap. He opened it and tangled through the paper like it was alive. He took out the left pair from the shoe. “Here, try it on,” he told me happily. I took off my left shoe. My dad untied the shoe laces and opened the shoe. He knelt and put it on my foot, he tied it. “Do they fit good?” I nodded. He pressed to where my toes reached. “They don’t hurt right?” “No,” I finally said. He took off the shoes and wrapped it within the paper into the box. We headed to a line that passed by fast. He payed, and we left. He let me hold the bag, I swung it around with joy throughout the mall. We went to the car and left home.

Later on in life I learned that they were the Jordan Dub-Zeros. After that, I loved shoes and had to buy them all. Now, I’m realizing I can’t buy all the shoes I want.

Yummy In Tummy

Everyone in our family love food. My Mom’s food has to be made by her. She don’t trust fast food much. Me, my food has to be somewhat healthy and sweet. My food also has to be different everyday, because I am0 picky. My sister, well hers has to be very healthy with happy green vegetables. One certain thing, our food preferably should be Mexican food or at least Mexican style.

But my dad, my dad loves his spicy food. You give him a bland taste, he goes over to the fridge and gets himself a jalapeno. He can withstand the bite of an angry fiery sun, or otherwise known as a jalapeno. Nothing is too spicy for my dad. He can pass the Hot Cheetos contest without shedding a single tear. He don’t need no glass of water or milk, all he needs is air. No spicy food to eat? He can cook himself a fresh bowl of hot soup that comes from the volcano. Like Dylan, my dad spits hot fire. Wasabi to him is like guacamole with little taste. At the end of the day his breath smells like fresh herbs and the spice cringes into your nose.

Their Advice

We walked left and right through the empty train lanes, looking at all the different artist and different styles. We came up to the train carts. We looked at all the signatures on the cart, all different and unique. Very far ahead of us were 2 people in the distance. Anthony and I looked at each other nervously. We decided to  gross in between the train carts to get to the other side. We kept walking. We suspected that the 2 people should be close near. The 2 people then crossed to our side of the train carts. We stopped walking. Only thing we could do i cross over to the other side again, so we did. We stood still for a second. We heard the rocks creek and move across the train. We kept walking. We heard someone yell “Hey!” We turned to the cart  met and met them up in between the the train cart. They looked at us strangely, they looked about at least 25 years old. They were big white men that looked ghetto or gangster. Both wore about the same thing, a large white t-shirt that was longer than their blank black hoodie. They introduced themselves to us, it was ___ and ___. We also introduced ourselves, but we used fake names for safety, Chris and Freddy. We told each other how long we have been “getting up.” They told us, ”Watch out, we’ve been seeing the po po walk around here, ya fell me. Stay low for now, aite.” Anthony responded, “Fosho’.” We shook hands and left home.

Strangers

It seemed as if every time we went, we met someone new. We would always randomly meet different people in the tracks. One time we met a drug dealer. He dressed in baggy jeans, LRG black sweatshirt, black Oaklans A’s fitted cap with his hoodie on top of it, and white and black jordans. We saw him walk up behind us while we walked. We just kept walking. We looked back and just waited for him, standing there in the windy breeze. He said, “I thought ya was funna’ run, but nah ya ain’t scary. Ya cool.” We stayed quiet for a while. All three of us walked together as if we were a gang. He reached into his pocket inside his coat. He took out a bag of weed. I began to get worried. Anthony and the stranger began to have a conversation.

“Ya smoke?” He nudged his head to the bag.

“Nope, we don’t smoke.”

“Ya do pills?”

“Nah.”

“I be selling clothes. I got that LRG, Ecko, Coogi, Edd Hardy and all that other stuff. I got them white tee’s, for cheap too. ”He paused, “Ya know, so ya can be fitted.”

“Nah, we good.”

“Ya be writting?” He moved his hand in a way of holding a can.

“Yeah, we just came to look around today though.”

“Ya got anythin painted around here.” He span around looking for something.

“Yeah, here we’ll show you,” we headed to some of our work we’ve done. We got up to one of the pieces that Anthony had made.

“That’s what’s up, ya got some bars tho,” he got closer to our work.

“Thanks.”

“Ya needa keep doin this, ya sick”

“Thanks man.”

“Aight, I’m funna go. Here’s my number, so ya hit me up when ya need something.”

“Can you get us some spray paint if we asked you though?”

“Yea, fosho. I get you anything you need.”

“Cool. We’ll hit you up one time then.” We never did call him back.