There’s no Love in the Jungle

My objective was to infiltrate this local fixie bicycle hacking makers community. After about a year of so-called initiation, which consisted of taking online design and managerial classes and a arduino programming project, the day came. The day I would become one of Them!

The last procedure, that I was not aware of, was a scarification ritual by fire. You could choose. A dot on the forehead with an ignited piece of metal. Or a heart on above the navel. Yup. This low.

Let me jump here quick into the cave of Yama, where the three statues are located, one above the other, near a small waterfall. The are those of the hopeful, the king, achieved and Lord of Lords, the fantasy Messiah. To the left of the cave is an exist that leads us to London.

Battersea power station, this dark tall guy from some sout slavic nation, looks like a second gen gypsy tells me that he used to work here one summer. At a factory. We’ll no time for that now.

I am running away from the fixie bike cultists cause I didn’t want a scar. Running ot meet my mates. We have to fight these evils. I run across the bridge, past the parliament, and into the old town. As we parkour our way deeper and deeper into the guts of the city, we jump straight into the local pub.

I usually don’t drink beer, but Tony Blair is pouring the pints, so I order one wit ma boys.

South.