On The Verge of Infamy

A Chance Encounter
It was 1994 and I had just began my Disco Hell dance party in Atlanta at The Star Bar on Tuesdays. I used to set up my equipment in the evening and then go home and get dressed for my show and chill for a few hours.
 It was in the Fall and I remember the sun was going down and everything had a orange glow, I was driving my '78 Eldorado down Memorial drive headed to my gig. It suddenly started raining hard and then golf ball sized Hail began bouncing off my prized automobile! I knew I had to get off the road. I turned down the volume of my 8-track tape player, reducing Rick James' Mary Jane to a grainy static.
 I quickly turned onto a side street and pulled up under an overpass and screeched to a halt. "My baby!" I hollered as I jumped out to survey the damage.
 As usual, I was dressed for work, in my favorite gangster  3 piece pinstripe suit, black fly collar shirt, white tie and black fedora with a white band. I also topped it all off with layers of pendant chains, rings, and spats worn over my black stacks.  It was my work uniform. I don't hide my style, I know it's different, but it looks good on me!  So I stood back and peered at the car for several minutes, from hood to trunk, at every angle. The hailstorm continued to pound hard.
 My Caddi was the only car under this overpass so, I sat down on the sloped cement culvert to wait out the deluge. So I pulled a fat joint out of my pocket breast pocket and lit it up. I took a long drag on it and began to cough. Before I knew it, a man came running though the pounding ice with his shirt over his head briefly revealing a full torso of tattoos. He stopped, out of breath, and soaking wet. Then he rung the water out of his shirt, and shook off the water from his head. He stood up and saw me toking and chuckled. I was shrouded in smoke, looking like a Sunday pimp, sitting under a busy highway next to a white caddi, smoking a joint and he laughed so loud it echoed. "I got here just in time!" He laughed.
"Come here and partake, traveller!" I said gesturing for him to sit beside me.  I handed him the roach and said "Hold on my friend."  and I reached into my trunk and pulled a big towel from my costume bag. "Here ya go" I said, tossing it to him while puffing the roach with one hand, caught the towel with the other, and then exhaled as he dried his head and shoulders.
 "Did it fuck your ride up?" He asked looking at my car. "Little bit, mostly on the trunk." I told him. "Not as bad as those cars out there" I replied, looking at the parade of bumper to bumper compact cars, all dented up. I turned and stared at his face. "Do I know you?" I asked. "Probably not" he said wiping his face. He seemed strangely familiar. "I know you from something... Wait, aren't you in that Digital Underground video? Was it Humpty Dance?" I asked, "Um, yeah that's me. I used to be their roadie."  "I knew I'd seen you somewhere!" I told him, taking the roach between my fingernails. "Lesane is my birth name,  I'm a rapper now, I go by Tupac Shakur." He told me. "Haha! Shakur? You named yourself after the Black Panther guy?" "He was my stepfather, but I didnt really know him. He killed some cops and went on death row. My mom raised me, she had me while she was in prison."  "Wow! That's so...um, cool." I told him. "Naw it wasn't cool. We had a hard life." He said that now his mom lives in Atlanta and that he was staying with her because he had some legal problems and was on the down low while everything blowed over. "Well I'll be" I laughed, "That Digital Underground video made you famous! You had all the ladies! Hey man, show me your tats!" and he smiled and rolled up his wet shirt, and exposed his Thug Life tat that covered half his chest. "Nice!" Hey, the sun is out, I gotta fly, can I give you a ride? "Well, A friend told me to go to this joint named The Star Bar tonight, I was hitchin' a ride there when this hail come down. Do you know where it is?" My eyes lit up. "What? Really? I'm Romeo, the DJ there tonight! That's my party!"  "For real?"he laughed and I said "Hop in."  I gave him one of my fancy tux shirts to wear and he came and hung out and danced all night. I never saw him with a crew. He seemed to be escaping something troubling. I believe he saw his impending death. But he was a fun guy and always hung with me onstage, or danced with himself. Nobody knew who he was, and he really liked being anonymous. We talked some nights after my show. We sat in my Caddi and smoked weed. A very introspective man, and a bit melancholy. We talked about philosophers like Marx and Proust. He quoted Shakespeare monologues and orators like Marcus Garvey and MLK Jr. - but we never talked about music. He was a regular for a couple of months and one night before closing, he told me his trial was dismissed  and had stuff to do. He gave me a dap and a warm hug. "Later Romie" he said "Stay Smoove!" And then he went back to the West Coast and big fame, but died the next year. I think most people think of him as dangerous thug, but the guy I knew was a sweet guy. He once told me he was a ballet dancer and I smirked at the thought. "Whaaaaat? No way!" I said. He laid down his drink and stood up on one of the bass speakers, "Check this out Romie!" he laughed and took a flying leap off the speaker and landed en pointe, did a spin and a perfect arabesque and ended with a dramatic plie' still holding his ballet pose! It's the strangest but most lasting memory I have of him. He was an interesting person and a complex individual. We could have enjoyed more of his generous, creative and rebellious spirit, if the cruel twist of fame had not robbed us of his genius.