Monday, August 29, 2011

Dread Story, Part Two

(Part One is here.)

It was Open Mic Night at McCawley's. I looked to the back of the room, and there was a Filipino with the longest dreads I've ever seen in real life, carefully tied up and casually draping over his shoulders.

Trying out for the first time the phrase my friends in Togo have heard between their dready neighbors (and use in messages to me occasionally), I approached him and said, "Respect, big rasta!" (Except I'm just a little rasta.)

It worked. And wasn't weird at all. (I've since gotten "Respect!" from dready strangers. I like these people. They're a good bunch.)

He liked the blonde dreads, but he knew as well or better than I did that they needed work. Within minutes we were on the landing exchanging phone numbers and discussing how he could make my dreads tighter and neater.

A couple weeks later I went to his apartment, parked in a chair, and learned the true meaning of "no pain, no gain" (which he kept repeating when he could tell I was maxing out).

Carlo tirelessly tightens.

Another seven-hour session later, my scalp was super tender again, but my dreadlitos were tight and noodle-y like they should be.

You can't see my dark roots!

I love them even more now, but I have ages to go before I to get Carlo's length!

And there's no one else in Shenzhen or Hong Kong doing work this good. I'm pretty sure.


Respect, brother.

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