Recently, I was at a Charity Gig during the Summer Blitz and separated a fly Mexican Girl dip with pretty lips and hips from her amigas as we were walking to the next venue. I popped my head into this dope lounge bar that I have on lockdown and saw one of my friends spinning that ill old-school soul and hip-hop sh*t on vinyl and suggested we stop by for a drink.
This move was two-fold: 1) We could hear some dope beats and enjoy some pro-bono cocktails and 2) I knew that the lounge had no cell phone service so when the friends of the fly Mexican girls were calling, they were going straight to voicemail.
This in turn, bought me a lot of time to spit Game and Swoop. Smooth.
Another benefit of knowing “no cell phone service” places is when you take a young American “text bonkers girl” to a restaurant, you can actually enjoy your Vino and apps (and I don’t mean Iphone apps either) in peace without the girls constantly Facebooking, Tweeting, BBMing or Texting.
gave her a “two kisses” good bye and exit Prime 112 with solid plans to meet the fly Argentinan girl later that night. I step into the balmy South Beach night wearing a two button bespoke cobalt blue Ozwald Boateng suit with the Royal Blue interior like I was from Kansas City. Or Simon City.
Spark up a smoke with the Zippo and a limo driver asks me, “Are you Joe?”
In a heads up move, I respond “No, I am Joe’s boss (having no idea who “Joe” is). Joe is still inside. I need to get to the Gansevoort Hotel quick.”
The limo driver says “Hop in”.
I love pro-bono limo rides.
As I exit the limo, I spot two blond girls, from the West Coast no doubt, smoking cigarettes outside Philippe and say,
