Up and down Greene Tree Road you stroll, week after week, day after day, in the morning and at night. I see you when I’m driving to work and when I’m coming back later, when I’m taking walks of my own: buds jammed in your ears, arms hanging at your sides or tensed and hoisted in imitation of some martial-arts move, clad totally nondescript in all black (or in black and white), never any other color. This very morning, in fact, I passed you, watching, and you cut your eyes at me in knowing solidarity, as if to say – and you’ve never once, in any of our non-encounters, deigned to actually say anything, as you seem to favor a barely perceptible nod of silent acknowledgement – that you know that I know that you are Cam’ron, a semi-famous rapper, fashion plate, and infamous Andersen Cooper interviewee, hiding out in the predominantly Jewish suburban wasteland of Owings Mills, Maryland.
This is probably not true, but it’s more entertaining to pretend that you are, in fact, the deposed Dipset chairman than to think about the reality that you’re more than likely some crazy dude who’s convinced he’s a ninja or something. Some theories: (a) you are insane but essentially harmless, and reside with relatives in one of the outrageously priced homes or condos nestled along bucolic Greene Tree Road, and all of this walking is an aspect of your mania; (b) you are an uber-successful commodities trader (or something like that) who employs a small army of underlings tasked with handling day-to-day operations, and these loyal kids report conditions to you via your iPhone as you travel up and down the road on your never-ending constitutional, and when it’s necessary to comment or provide direction you do this, offering cryptic or direct orders that are inevitably profitable; or (c) I don’t have any other theories about who you are, aside from this whole unfounded “weird walker dude’s actually Cam’ron” thing. My wife and my mother have both seen you, so it’s not as if you’re a figment of my imagination. (Also: my mom says that what you’re doing isn’t actually kung-fu or jujitsu or any other form of martial arts, even though your body language suggests that you’re fairly sure of yourself. I’m more inclined to believe her because she’s my mother and because Killa Season sorta blew.) You don’t even really look like Cam’ron, who better resembles my step-sister in appearance and complexion. However, Cam’ron favors flashy, vivid color suits and ensembles that make Crockett and Tubbs look like posers: pinks, purples, yellows, anything bright and eye-catching. (No homo!) So if you, er, if Cam – whose music and behavior imply some degree of mental instability – say, decided to flee NYC to regroup and lick his wounds following well-publicized beefs with Jay-Z, 50 Cent, and his former fellow Dipsetters, it would make sense that he would opt for calmer clothes (and no visible bling whatsoever) that wouldn’t attract attention, thereby allowing him to wander affluent Baltimore County side streets constantly like a goddamned coiffed, clean-shaven loon whilst mentally honing rhymes and plotting his comeback.
Your secret’s safe with me, “Gameron Cilles, lovable mute eccentric and perpetual pedestrian!”
This is probably not true, but it’s more entertaining to pretend that you are, in fact, the deposed Dipset chairman than to think about the reality that you’re more than likely some crazy dude who’s convinced he’s a ninja or something. Some theories: (a) you are insane but essentially harmless, and reside with relatives in one of the outrageously priced homes or condos nestled along bucolic Greene Tree Road, and all of this walking is an aspect of your mania; (b) you are an uber-successful commodities trader (or something like that) who employs a small army of underlings tasked with handling day-to-day operations, and these loyal kids report conditions to you via your iPhone as you travel up and down the road on your never-ending constitutional, and when it’s necessary to comment or provide direction you do this, offering cryptic or direct orders that are inevitably profitable; or (c) I don’t have any other theories about who you are, aside from this whole unfounded “weird walker dude’s actually Cam’ron” thing. My wife and my mother have both seen you, so it’s not as if you’re a figment of my imagination. (Also: my mom says that what you’re doing isn’t actually kung-fu or jujitsu or any other form of martial arts, even though your body language suggests that you’re fairly sure of yourself. I’m more inclined to believe her because she’s my mother and because Killa Season sorta blew.) You don’t even really look like Cam’ron, who better resembles my step-sister in appearance and complexion. However, Cam’ron favors flashy, vivid color suits and ensembles that make Crockett and Tubbs look like posers: pinks, purples, yellows, anything bright and eye-catching. (No homo!) So if you, er, if Cam – whose music and behavior imply some degree of mental instability – say, decided to flee NYC to regroup and lick his wounds following well-publicized beefs with Jay-Z, 50 Cent, and his former fellow Dipsetters, it would make sense that he would opt for calmer clothes (and no visible bling whatsoever) that wouldn’t attract attention, thereby allowing him to wander affluent Baltimore County side streets constantly like a goddamned coiffed, clean-shaven loon whilst mentally honing rhymes and plotting his comeback.
Your secret’s safe with me, “Gameron Cilles, lovable mute eccentric and perpetual pedestrian!”
2 comments:
It's Ghost Dog! I'm tellin' ya!
thanks for dropping by!
hahaha! i never considered that posibility, but then again, i never saw the movie, either. i can assure you, though, that the dude in question looks nothing like forrest whitaker.
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