All My Friends… Know The Lowrider…
Day seven. Still sick. Still sucks. I think all of the missery has made me a bit nostalgic. In between hacking up a lung and snortin’ more Afrin, I spent some time last night looking over old posts, graphics, and just generally remembering where I came from. “Keeping it real,” as the kids say these days.
Any of you fellas remember “Lowriders & Business Suits?” Without a doubt, that post means more to me than any other I’ve written. The scene that went down that day in Huntington Beach was impactful and all, but the act of actually writing about it changed my life. It’s like I was writing… and I was thinking… and…
What the fuck am I doing?
Why am I doing something every day of my life… that I don’t like?!?!
It was literally at that moment that I decided I wasn’t gonna do anything anymore if I didn’t absolutely love it. It sounds like the aspirations of a 5-year old brat, but I can be pretty stubborn and for whatever reason, my mind was set. I stepped down from my company the next day and we sold it off about 120 days later. I haven’t had a tie on since.
And just the other week, I got the big payoff – the moment you know when you made the right decision. See, Joyo texted me looking for a lunch buddy. I agreed and headed down to the shop. By the time I got there, the lunch party had grown – Franco, Rocco, Bleed, Ford, Magic, Todd, and maybe a few others decided to join Joyo and myself. We headed towards South Congress (in hot rods and duallys) for some over-priced “cones” and arrived only to see my old business partner standing in line, wearing a suit.
Of course, we were all dressed like hoods… Dirty jeans or Dickies under black t-shirts and capped with $100 sunglasses. Except for that one kid – he always seems to wear his eye protection on top of his head like he forgets they were up there when he walked away from the grinder. Anyway, my new crew was quite the contrast to my old. I wondered if my old partner got it or not.
After lunch and saying my goodbyes, I headed back towards Dripping and back to work. My cell phone rang and sure enough, it was my old suit partner.
“Man, Ryan. Congrats on life. I dunno if I’ve ever seen you more comfortable.”
He got it… And that’s saying something as this guy isn’t a sick bastard with a mind owned by grease and oil. He’s just a regular dude that happens to have a couple of graduate degrees from Harvard and some really rational shit floating around in his head. Not that I needed legitimization, but it sure feels good anyhow.
I owe you fellas. Big time.