Read Online Anything for Profit 2: Nothing to Lose by Justin Amen Floyd - Free Book Online
Authors: Justin Amen Floyd
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bulging as she rambled on outside of the Lil’ Cricket gas station on Augusta Road.
“Some niggas pulled up in front of Ant and nem house and started shootin’ like pow, pow, pow!” Dot made her hand into a gun and imitated the sounds for her audience. “Then… that nigga Ant D came out the fuckin’ house like he was Rambo or some shit!” The crowd that had gathered around Dot broke out laughing at her theatrics as she re-enacted the scene, complete with sound effects and all. “He had a bandana tied around his head and two machine guns with that grenade launcher shit at the bottom! He started bussin’ on them niggas! Boom, boom, BOOM! Them other niggas was shootin’ back, but that nigga Ant kept bussin’ on em, just like Scarface!” As her audience grew, so did her story. “Ok, so then Meka—y’all know Meka his twin right?! She came out the house dressed in all black wit’ a gun in both hands, dodging bullets like she was in… what’s the name of that fuckin’ movie?” She mumbled something to herself. She cocked her head to the side and thought for a second. “Ummm, y’all know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! The Matrix! She was bussin’ on them niggas and dodgin’ bullets like she was in the Matrix!”
Dot continued on with her story until somebody interrupted her. “Dot… now how the fuck you seen alla that and yo’ ass been out here suckin’ on that glass dick all damn day?!” asked one woman. The crowd erupted into laughter at the heckler’s comment.
“What? Oh, y’all thinkin’ just ‘cause Dot gets high that Dot don’t be seein’ shit, Huh? I’m tellin’ y’all muh’fuckas I seen that whole shit wit’ my own two eyes!” she shouted out over the laughs. She pointed at her bulging eyes again for emphasis.
Suddenly, the thumping bass line from UGK and Outkast’s hit song International Players Anthem was heard pounding from a 2007 pearl white, customized Cadillac DTS trimmed in gold. The Caddy pulled into the gas station sitting high on twenty-six inch chrome rims, wrapped in low profile Pirelli tires. The windows were darkly tinted. The music was so loud that the thick Texas drawl of rap legend Pimp C could be heard outside of the car: “My bitch a choosy lover, never fuck without a rubber/ never in the sheets, like it on top of the cover/ money on the dresser, drive a kompressor/ top notch hoes, get the most not the lesser… ”
As the music continued to vibrate the pavement, the driver’s window rolled down and revealed the face of Devon Simms, better known as Fat Mack. A cloud of fragrant weed smoke drifted into the air. Fat Mack was 6’1, and weighed over three hundred pounds. He was dark skinned, had a lazy eye and would definitely never ever be considered for the cover of GQ. But he didn’t need to be. Despite being cosmetically challenged, Fat Mack had swag, confidence, and enough game to talk the drawers off a nun. He kept a stable full of bad bitches that kept his pockets almost as fat as his rotund stomach. He had his girls charge a hundred an hour to fuck, fifty to suck, and two hundred for anal. Pissing, shitting, or any of that other freak shit was extra.
Devon had first realized he had the gift , as he liked to call it, when he was still a freshman at Carolina High School. There was a girl in his homeroom class by the name of Africa who after years of being teased; despised her name, her looks, and herself. Africa was a sweet girl with a beautiful heart but she’d been told for so long that she was ugly, that sadly she’d begun to believe it. Devon used to sit in the back of the class with Africa and kick it with her. She was extremely shy and suspicious at first, but after a while, she opened up to him and they became good friends. In fact he might’ve been her only friend. So one day when Devon had asked her to do him a favor, Africa had readily agreed, without even knowing what it was.
After hearing what Devon wanted her
“Some niggas pulled up in front of Ant and nem house and started shootin’ like pow, pow, pow!” Dot made her hand into a gun and imitated the sounds for her audience. “Then… that nigga Ant D came out the fuckin’ house like he was Rambo or some shit!” The crowd that had gathered around Dot broke out laughing at her theatrics as she re-enacted the scene, complete with sound effects and all. “He had a bandana tied around his head and two machine guns with that grenade launcher shit at the bottom! He started bussin’ on them niggas! Boom, boom, BOOM! Them other niggas was shootin’ back, but that nigga Ant kept bussin’ on em, just like Scarface!” As her audience grew, so did her story. “Ok, so then Meka—y’all know Meka his twin right?! She came out the house dressed in all black wit’ a gun in both hands, dodging bullets like she was in… what’s the name of that fuckin’ movie?” She mumbled something to herself. She cocked her head to the side and thought for a second. “Ummm, y’all know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout! The Matrix! She was bussin’ on them niggas and dodgin’ bullets like she was in the Matrix!”
Dot continued on with her story until somebody interrupted her. “Dot… now how the fuck you seen alla that and yo’ ass been out here suckin’ on that glass dick all damn day?!” asked one woman. The crowd erupted into laughter at the heckler’s comment.
“What? Oh, y’all thinkin’ just ‘cause Dot gets high that Dot don’t be seein’ shit, Huh? I’m tellin’ y’all muh’fuckas I seen that whole shit wit’ my own two eyes!” she shouted out over the laughs. She pointed at her bulging eyes again for emphasis.
Suddenly, the thumping bass line from UGK and Outkast’s hit song International Players Anthem was heard pounding from a 2007 pearl white, customized Cadillac DTS trimmed in gold. The Caddy pulled into the gas station sitting high on twenty-six inch chrome rims, wrapped in low profile Pirelli tires. The windows were darkly tinted. The music was so loud that the thick Texas drawl of rap legend Pimp C could be heard outside of the car: “My bitch a choosy lover, never fuck without a rubber/ never in the sheets, like it on top of the cover/ money on the dresser, drive a kompressor/ top notch hoes, get the most not the lesser… ”
As the music continued to vibrate the pavement, the driver’s window rolled down and revealed the face of Devon Simms, better known as Fat Mack. A cloud of fragrant weed smoke drifted into the air. Fat Mack was 6’1, and weighed over three hundred pounds. He was dark skinned, had a lazy eye and would definitely never ever be considered for the cover of GQ. But he didn’t need to be. Despite being cosmetically challenged, Fat Mack had swag, confidence, and enough game to talk the drawers off a nun. He kept a stable full of bad bitches that kept his pockets almost as fat as his rotund stomach. He had his girls charge a hundred an hour to fuck, fifty to suck, and two hundred for anal. Pissing, shitting, or any of that other freak shit was extra.
Devon had first realized he had the gift , as he liked to call it, when he was still a freshman at Carolina High School. There was a girl in his homeroom class by the name of Africa who after years of being teased; despised her name, her looks, and herself. Africa was a sweet girl with a beautiful heart but she’d been told for so long that she was ugly, that sadly she’d begun to believe it. Devon used to sit in the back of the class with Africa and kick it with her. She was extremely shy and suspicious at first, but after a while, she opened up to him and they became good friends. In fact he might’ve been her only friend. So one day when Devon had asked her to do him a favor, Africa had readily agreed, without even knowing what it was.
After hearing what Devon wanted her
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