𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐊𝐈𝐃𝐒.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

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𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓.
⥊𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘛 𝘕𝘌𝘞 𝘠𝘖𝘙𝘒, 𝘉𝘙𝘖𝘖𝘒𝘓𝘠𝘕, 𝘕𝘠⥊
𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟓, 𝟑:𝟒𝟐 𝐩.𝐦.
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The bells jingled as the front door to the corner store on Lynwood street of East New York, Brooklyn opened, and a boy with a navy blue Nike hoodie and faded dark-washed denim jeans walked in.

The boy was 14-year old Kross Ta'Jae Lawrence, nicknamed 'Whoopty' by his older.

His chestnut brown, semi-large eyes scanned the store, watching to see if the Middle Eastern men who owned the store were watching, but they weren't.

A smirk went across his full lips as he headed towards the back, where he'd be out of sight, so he could slip snacks into his pockets.

Growing up in the trenches of East New York, Brooklyn meant money was something that every kid longed for but didn't have.

Kross was one of them, and he shoplifted any chance he could to get snacks since his mother couldn't afford them.

He reached his golden-brown hand out onto the shelf filled with cakes and grabbed two little Debbie honeybuns swiftly, looking around before putting them in his pocket.

He walked around a little before doing it again, this time grabbing 2 50-cent bags of Doritos, and putting them into the same pocket as the honeybuns.

They got mad shit, not like they gon' miss it anyways.

His pink tongue ran across his bottom lip as he snatched two fruit punch Caprisuns and stuffed them into his other pocket before reaching up to play in the freshly-done cornrows that kept his wild hair under control.

Walking back towards the front when he finished thieving, he stuck up his middle finger up at the Arab who muttered something in Arabic.

"Out my store, you no buy shit," The cashier told him in a thick accent, looking back at his newspaper.

I stole shit, that's why.

Kross wasted no time leaving the store the cool early March air slapping him in the face, causing him to shiver and zip his hoodie up more.

"Yo Nas," Kross spoke in his heavy Brooklyn accent with a low pitched tone, getting the attention of a young dark-skin Jamaican boy with a Cesar cut.

Sebastian, nicknamed Nas because of his middle name, happened to be the close friend of Kross since the sandbox due to them growing up in the same building on the same floor, living next to each other.

They looked out for each other, being the two were basically brothers, and made sure nobody fucked with them.

Nas was a year and a half younger than Kross and was timider with a speech impediment, which made it easier to pick on him.

But nobody did, because of Kross.

There were countless times where Kross got into fights on the playground because the other project babies picked on Nas for not being able to wear new clothes like some of them, who only got to because their brothers and uncles were drug dealers.