I left New York around 1995. I lived in the upper west side. There was this Falafel
place owned by this Syrian. Ali. Nice guy. He used to call me Malek in reference
to our monarchy. Ali was cool so I let him get away with it ...
Ali went back to Syria so I have no idea if he is even still alive with all the shit that went down.
Ali had this brother. I walking back from my favorite bar on 106th and Broadway
very late on a beautiful summer night, Ali's brother was standing talking to this
girl. He sees me and calls me Malek. He wanted to imitate his brother. So
I immobilized him . I bgrabbed him by the neck and I
slowly poured my beer on his head.
What can I say? I was in a good mood ... I was happy ...
Did he react? No. He just looked at me. That's a good thing. Good for everyone.
He Got The Message.