waist.
We drove for about fifteen minutes. Then I noticed we were in a rough area. We were obviously in the hood. Niggas were walking around with oversized white tees, jeans to their knees, do-rags and fitted caps. Everybody looked fucking suspect, like they were just looking for trouble. Being that I was on the run, I knew this wasn’t the place for me. I was sure the police lived in areas like this hood.
“Where the fuck we at, nigga?” I asked, not feeling too secure with my surroundings.
“Bankhead. Don’t worry, this shit will be real quick.”
Poppo pulled up to a set of rundown apartments and jumped out the car.
“A’ight, nigga. Just hurry the fuck up.” I pulled out the gun that he had given me earlier from my waist and put one bullet in the head.
I constantly monitored my surroundings as I waited for Poppo to come back. I couldn’t take the chance of being caught up in some bullshit. I pulled out my cell to check the time and noticed I had a missed call from my baby mother.
One complete minute hadn’t passed before the car door opened and I was face to face with a dope fiend carrying a butcher knife.
“Give me your fucking money!” he demanded.
Almost instantaneously, like a reflex, I lifted my gun and pulled the trigger. Click !
Nothing. The fucking gun had jammed on me. I knew this was do-or-die, so my mind went straight into survivor mode.
Bam! I busted the fiend in the head with the butt of the gun, knocking him to the ground.
Just then Poppo walked up. “What the fuck is going on, man?”
“Nothing, nigga. Your piece-of-shit gun almost got me killed. That’s all.”
“What you mean?”
“Just get me the fuck out of here!” I said, pissed the fuck off.
Poppo hit the gas, and we skidded off.
I exhaled and shook my head as I thought about things as we drove toward the interstate. I knew this neighborhood was bad luck. Relieved that I’d escaped without injury or jail, I relaxed and unjammed Poppo’s little bullshit gun and placed it snug in my waist.
Minutes later, we pulled up to Crossroads Bar and Grill. Although the club was closed, it was still niggas everywhere, cats in one corner playing Madden on the projector screen, another set of cats gambling in the next corner, and the owner, Diablo, in another spot having what looked like a serious conversation with another cat.
Always willing to take a gamble, I immediately started watching the dice game. It looked like Diablo was gonna be busy for a minute, so I decided to get in on the game.
My luck was running good, and I was killing those country-ass A-town niggas when Poppo came over and interrupted the game.
“Diablo, ready to holla at you, man.”
With that, I grabbed up my money and walked away. I counted my money as I walked toward Diablo. I’d won fifteen hundred dollars in that little bit of time.
Poppo introduced us, and I carried the conversation from there. There was no need for a bunch of talking. It was understood niggas was there to make money.
“Look, my shit is on point. I can get however much coke you need. I get my shit from across the border, so it’s top-notch. I been bringing this shit over from the West Coast to the East Coast for years, and I had VA on lock, so I know can’t nobody else make you a better offer.” I continued by telling my numbers.
After a short negotiation, we had an agreement. The deal was set, and it was time for me to get the fuck out of dodge. I instructed Poppo to get me to my hotel. A nigga was wanted, and I wasn’t trying to spend too much time on the streets.
Minutes later Poppo pulled up to a hotel right off the interstate on La Vista Road. He went in and reserved the room then came back.
“Room one twenty-four,” he said and handed me the card key.
I grabbed my bags and went straight to my room. Once in the room, I kicked off my shoes, laid my piece-of-shit gun on the nightstand, and laid across the bed with remote in one hand and dick in the other as I began
We drove for about fifteen minutes. Then I noticed we were in a rough area. We were obviously in the hood. Niggas were walking around with oversized white tees, jeans to their knees, do-rags and fitted caps. Everybody looked fucking suspect, like they were just looking for trouble. Being that I was on the run, I knew this wasn’t the place for me. I was sure the police lived in areas like this hood.
“Where the fuck we at, nigga?” I asked, not feeling too secure with my surroundings.
“Bankhead. Don’t worry, this shit will be real quick.”
Poppo pulled up to a set of rundown apartments and jumped out the car.
“A’ight, nigga. Just hurry the fuck up.” I pulled out the gun that he had given me earlier from my waist and put one bullet in the head.
I constantly monitored my surroundings as I waited for Poppo to come back. I couldn’t take the chance of being caught up in some bullshit. I pulled out my cell to check the time and noticed I had a missed call from my baby mother.
One complete minute hadn’t passed before the car door opened and I was face to face with a dope fiend carrying a butcher knife.
“Give me your fucking money!” he demanded.
Almost instantaneously, like a reflex, I lifted my gun and pulled the trigger. Click !
Nothing. The fucking gun had jammed on me. I knew this was do-or-die, so my mind went straight into survivor mode.
Bam! I busted the fiend in the head with the butt of the gun, knocking him to the ground.
Just then Poppo walked up. “What the fuck is going on, man?”
“Nothing, nigga. Your piece-of-shit gun almost got me killed. That’s all.”
“What you mean?”
“Just get me the fuck out of here!” I said, pissed the fuck off.
Poppo hit the gas, and we skidded off.
I exhaled and shook my head as I thought about things as we drove toward the interstate. I knew this neighborhood was bad luck. Relieved that I’d escaped without injury or jail, I relaxed and unjammed Poppo’s little bullshit gun and placed it snug in my waist.
Minutes later, we pulled up to Crossroads Bar and Grill. Although the club was closed, it was still niggas everywhere, cats in one corner playing Madden on the projector screen, another set of cats gambling in the next corner, and the owner, Diablo, in another spot having what looked like a serious conversation with another cat.
Always willing to take a gamble, I immediately started watching the dice game. It looked like Diablo was gonna be busy for a minute, so I decided to get in on the game.
My luck was running good, and I was killing those country-ass A-town niggas when Poppo came over and interrupted the game.
“Diablo, ready to holla at you, man.”
With that, I grabbed up my money and walked away. I counted my money as I walked toward Diablo. I’d won fifteen hundred dollars in that little bit of time.
Poppo introduced us, and I carried the conversation from there. There was no need for a bunch of talking. It was understood niggas was there to make money.
“Look, my shit is on point. I can get however much coke you need. I get my shit from across the border, so it’s top-notch. I been bringing this shit over from the West Coast to the East Coast for years, and I had VA on lock, so I know can’t nobody else make you a better offer.” I continued by telling my numbers.
After a short negotiation, we had an agreement. The deal was set, and it was time for me to get the fuck out of dodge. I instructed Poppo to get me to my hotel. A nigga was wanted, and I wasn’t trying to spend too much time on the streets.
Minutes later Poppo pulled up to a hotel right off the interstate on La Vista Road. He went in and reserved the room then came back.
“Room one twenty-four,” he said and handed me the card key.
I grabbed my bags and went straight to my room. Once in the room, I kicked off my shoes, laid my piece-of-shit gun on the nightstand, and laid across the bed with remote in one hand and dick in the other as I began
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