The two twenty-somethings on the corner intended to empower Oakland youth through re-envisioned hip-hop. “Putchu down for $100/month?” the young woman said.
“How about $5?” I said.
“Get you invites to all the shows,” he said.
“I stopped listening to pop music in, oh, 1968,” I said.
“C’mon,” he said. “You know the first rapper?”
“Gimme a clue.”
“Muhammad Ali. And them radio d.j.s”
“Ooo-tiddley-ock,” I said. “This is the Jock. Here on the scene. With the record machine. Crying ooo-poppa-do. How do you do.?
“There you go, Bob,” she said. “Tha’s dope.”
When I told this to a friend, she said, “Why did they call you a dope?”