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𝙺𝙾𝙵𝙸 𝚉𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙴 𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙽 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝙾𝙺𝙻𝚈𝙽,𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝚈𝙾𝚁𝙺
"Word on the street is Ms. Michelle got kicked out," Chuckled Rocky, a 14 year old boy who spent his time scramming the rich white folks and stealing CDs to sell for a double price claiming they were limited edition.
"Wait what?" Said Kofi taking a pull from his blunt as he reclined back in his lawn chair on his grandmother's porch. He didn't live with his grandmother, he had actually inherited the house his father owned but he preferred to be over with her. He didn't like the feeling of emptiness so he filled the void by being in the neighborhood that shaped him.
"Yeah, Terry who's Mike's brother told everybody at the barbershop that he had kicked her ass out cause he was sick of having to tear that ass up." Laughed Rocky bouncing the basketball back over to the other kids.
"A damn shame." Chuckled Kofi as he took a long hit from the blunt and let it sit before exhaling.
"Man Kofi, you a cool ass nigga man I wanna be like you when I get up there." Rocky said sitting down in the lawn chair beside him.
"Trust me brotha'. if you seen what I seen...knew what I knew...you wouldn't want to." Kofi looked down the street seeing what looked to be a 2002 blacked out dodge circling the street again.
"Awl hell." Rocky mumbled. "This the second time they circled the block, you think they bout to do a drive by?"
"This my third and hell yeah...it looks like they looking for somebody." Kofi said turning back to see the front door swing open and Kofi's pop pop come out with a newspaper in hand.
"Boy it's a pretty day today." Pop pop said. "Rocky I hope your scamming ass ain't come here with them damn CDs, last week was the last time I'd ever buy some shit from you!"
"What you buy from him?" Kofi asked taking a hit from his blunt, his goal was to be as high in the clouds as possible. Soberness just wasn't for him, sure he could handle being sober but he preferred not to because when he was high he didn't give a fuck about shit and he liked that.
"This the fifth time that damn dodge done drove down this neighborhood." Mumbled pops as he looked at the car as it slowly drove down passed all the kids that played.
"Them gang banging niggas don't seem to care about shit, they'd shoot a poor kid in the street for being at the wrong place at the wrong time." Kofi shook his head watching it turn off to the next neighborhood up the block.
"I know this bad to say, but I hope if they do start shooting its in the other neig—
As if to answer the boy's prayers gunshots rang out and as usual the kids each took off running for cover. In the neighborhood where Kofi's grandparents lived, it didn't matter whose house you ducked off into because most likely everybody already knew what it was. It was crazy to see kids as young as five grow up the same way he did and develop PTSD and fear of dying young, but that's just how life was. The police rarely made their way through this side of Brooklyn, because of the likelihood of getting shot at the minute they got passed the stop sign—It was sad because people really did need protection but the police officers were murderers and executioners themselves.
