You wake up as someone from the opposite coast/side.....what's the first thing you do?

Devilinurear

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I'm from the West, so I'd wake up as someone from the East.

I'd angrily put on my Timbs, put some Smif N Wessun in my earphones, mean mug everyone I walk past and randomly ask people what today's mathematics are.

How about you?
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Rollie Forbes

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If I wake up & I'm suddenly from the west coast, the first thing I would do is ride down on that buster Willie Manchester. Then, I would apply to join the check-in committee so I could make sure all the out of towners kick some ends to the hood.
After lunch at Roscoe's Chicken & Waffles, I'd head to the Slauson Swap Meet to get me a fresh khaki suit, some Locs, and a pair of Chucks.
At night, me and the homies would kick it on Crenshaw. We'd drink 40's, shoot craps, and maybe go to Fatburger.
The next day, I'd either go to the homie's picnic at the pork, or go see the cor show.
 

Phantum

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I'm waking up to palm trees and nice weather :blessed:


Probably do a couple sets on my front yard bench because I know that's how y'all Cali nikkas get down.


Smoke a blunt with my neighbor OG Loc Dog

Hit up my ese homeboy Lil Casper and go shoot some hoops where Ice Cube caught a triple double :banderas:
 

F*ckthemkids

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Beaches, downtown, the embarcadero, sea port village, balboa park, the best zoo in the country, sea world, Seasame Place, concerts at the Rady Shell, world class fine dining, world class shops in fashion valley and utc, Mexicco is 20 minutes away, beautiful women, Petco park is consistently voted the best ballpark in the mlb… etc.





That looks dope:gladbron:
 

987654321

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Go visit my family in Inglewood, research which gangs have the best benefits/401k, go to the beach, say shyt like ā€œbųsteÅ™ā€ and ā€œCorrā€ and ā€œDead Homiesā€ for no reason at all. Eat good ass tacos. Visit LA black and Asian friends I was cool with in the Army. Meet up with the Mexican ones because I knows it’s gon be a shoot out if I actually went to their neighborhood.
 

Richard Glidewell

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Home has no meaning for me anymore, I have literally lived in 4 corners of the world and more. 3rd coast native though so waking up in Canada would be fukking shocking to say the least aye
 

Blown Moon

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I'm from Georgia, so I’d wake up as someone from Oregon/Portland.

I'd wake up, do the hygiene thing, and slide into my Thursday Boot Co low tops, chinos, flannel shirt, and messenger bag. First things first, COFFEE! PDX Coffee Club here I come. After my latte and 30 minutes of small talk with the fully tatted barista named Charli, I'd meet up at the Japanese Garden with my mixed-race lover who only dated white men before me and has BLM tatted on her wrist inside of a heart. We’d end the afternoon with a late brunch at the Bread & Honey Cafe with plans to documentary and chill that night. She'd head off to fukk herself into self-assured white acceptance with the outdoorsy Chad on the side who views her as a ****** bytch cum rag she doesn't think I know about (but I don't care because she's just eye candy who carries herself well so I use her for bait for other baddies) and I'd stop for a mid-day suck off from my thick and firm-up Snowbunny who’s going to go home and kiss her publicly liberal but secretly racist husband who she resents because she feels he’s turning her into her boring and sad mom with all this stability so she views my Black Man semen as freedom and a welcomed escape from her boring reality. With Snowbunny saliva still drying on my dikk I’ll head into a random bar to check out what their happy hour is like. I still haven't found a bar with the perfect mix of sketchiness, laid-backness, and indifference to me being a big Black Man that I can just melt into the background at and relax with my craft wheat ale. Before heading home I'll stop at my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. The food is just okay but they have their 23 year old insanely beautiful daughter working as the host 6 days a week even though there's only 6 tables. Her pops who cooks in the open kitchen always gives me a fake mean mug followed by a begrudged head nod when I walk in, while her mom who didn't like me at first but now smiles warmly at me after I picked up a nicknack that looked like the other bullshyt she has decorating the shop and handed it to her and said: ā€œthis is beautiful and classy, so I thought of you and bought it for you.ā€ Since it's just me in the shop Sigrid sits at my table eager for her dose of attention and flirting, a welcomed escape from her parents. Without taking my order her father starts preparing Beyainatu for me which always comes with a fork because they know I don't do the hand-eating thing. Sigrid’s mother eavesdrops on our conversation while rolling silverware up into napkins. I have long term plans of making Sigrid’s mother my first child’s grandmother. But back to the short term, I head back home after my meal, spruce up a bit while texting my tragic mulatta lover to bring some weed and whiskey. I end the night staring a my ceiling with the undercover white mans whore literally under my covers nestled next to me thinking about potential new revenue streams, taking Sigrid to the upcoming Jacob Banks show, how the classic tragic mulatta hair press smells way better than weave, wondering if I can somehow fukk mulatta’s little sister who is going to Oregon State who I saw on IG whose got disrespectful ass on her that I can tell she's uncomfortable with, and if Prime Ali could beat a Prime Tyson. I mean yeah, Ali is the greatest, and all that rope-a-dope shyt is cool and all but Tyson has Nyquil in both hands, if just one of those punches slips through it’s nite-nite, speaking of nite-nite…
 
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