To be completely honest, nobody gives a fuck about Bay Area rappers. It’s not that they’re not good, they’re just not interesting anymore. The cultural epicenter of technological advancement and origination— has been stepped on to the point of no return. Who dropped Fent in the rap game? Once a prominent hub of game, supreme confidence, and black panther counterculture idealism—now serves as a lost and found for niggas looking for an identity. A place where drug addicts and serial killers plague the market. A slow and steady deterioration of a once unstoppable and innovative infrastructure. Mac Dre, Messy Marv, E-40, Too Short, The Jacka, Mac Blast, Keak Da Sneak, the list goes on. Did all their hard work go to waste? Are they part of the problem for not upholding the Bay Area standard? Who’s to blame for this shit show we call Bay Area hip hop? Well hold tight I’m finna break this shit down.

Content is King (but not the type that Thizzler makes)

So this won’t mean shit, if we don’t address the biggest issue on the surface. Thizzler, and all these other pay to play platforms whose claim to fame can be attributed to the labor of the slaves (rappers) they’ve employed. “You the type of nigga who would sign to Thizzler,” IAMSU said that shit for reason. Let’s take a closer look at this. Thizzler in the early 2010’s branded themselves as the place for “All Things Bay Area,” and honestly in the beginning they did a good job of keeping up this facade. But as we all know, their moral compass started to tweak once they realized what they had. A goldmine! This ain’t 1848, but niggas was rushing to strike gold with Thizzler. 10 years ago, they were really the only form of Bay Area music media being funneled out into the streets. You ain’t gotta be the best when you’re the only.

So early on they built their platforms off posting/collaborating with notable Bay Area artists, then, charging up and coming artists for bare minimum promo. This is very common and actually the blueprint for a lot of media companies we see today. Do that make it right? No. Do I understand it? Absolutely. The business aspect makes total sense, but in the midst of prioritizing the business, they’ve lost cultural integrity because the basis of their platform is now dependent on popularity and paywalls.

But stay with me, this shit gets weird. Monopoly. Not the board game, though. A monopoly can be described as a person, company, or entity who has complete control over the products and services in a particular market, giving us (the consumers) little to no alternatives outside of them.

I’ll give you an example: If there’s only one tire shop in town, that tire shop can jack up the prices, provide worse service, and sell faulty merchandise. And customers have no choice but to buy these faulty tires because they’re the only tire shop in town.

Now back to one of the biggest cultural exploiters in Bay Area history— Thizzler. I don’t know the exact year, but someone at Thizzler’s plantation came up with the grand plan to start signing niggas. Why is that a problem Scrap, you might ask? It’s a big fucking problem because as a media platform, why are you signing artists? Is that not a conflict of interest?

First let’s dissect what’s being offered. In my travels, I’ve built relationships with various artists across the Bay Area and here’s what I know. If you’re an artist with little to moderate buzz— congratulations, you’ve been selected for Thizzler’s stimulus package.

• Package A: “Hey little nigga, we like this new mixtape you just dropped. We see you have a following and higher numbers than the average field nigga. We wanna bring you in the big house and see if you’ll accept this hot meal and spending money. You can’t sit at the table or choose what you wanna eat, and we actually need the spending money back at some point.” I’ve seen Package A being offered with my own eyes on two separate occasions with artists I’m very close with. 10k was offered both times for an already finished mixtape, that had to be distributed through their platform. Sounds good right? You pay me for some shit I already did? Piece of cake. But when you start to look deeper into the contract details you notice something very interesting. This ain’t no one and done, final sale type shit. It states in the contract, and I’m paraphrasing, that if the streams from the mixtapes doesn’t cover the 10k they let you borrow— you (the artist) have to find a way to cover the loan you were just given.

• Package B: “Hey little nigga, we see you’re the hottest rapper on the plantation and we wanna bring you into the house permanently. We can provide you with consistent hot meals, priority over field niggas, and an annual stipend to promote the Big House. You still can’t sit at our table, but when dinner is served we have a kiddie table set up where you can congregate amongst niggas with similar attributes. You also have options on what you eat, but not how it’s prepared. You’ll be eating steak, but it’s gon be well done nigga.” From around 2016 to about 2024, Thizzler decided to cosplay as Suge Knight. Death Row Thizzler Records. Between these years we were force fed a lineup of various artists across the Bay— usually whoever had the most traction in every city. Package B showed favoritism. These artist were given all the tools they needed to become successful. Free video shoots, free studio time, marketing, well thought out promotions, but the most important— PRIORITY. Thizzler, a media company, prioritized their contracted artists and manipulated the algorithm in favor of them. Here’s what the streets were saying. These artists signed a contract where they were basically given a budget to live out their dreams. Not because they fuck with niggas, but because now that artists’ name, image, and likeness belongs to Thizzler. The catalog, the masters, the royalties all go to them. Again, standard industry practices. Niggas sell their soul everyday B.

Let’s break this down and I’ll explain the aforementioned monopoly and conflict of interest aspect of all of this. If Thizzler, the main source of Bay Area media is signing artists, they have no reason or obligation to promote any other artists. They purposely manipulated the market to supplement their own pockets and agenda. For almost a decade, we were subjected to the same 10-12 artists in a time period that felt like a fever dream. Most notably, EBK, a Stockton rap faction that came to prominence with acts such as EBK Young Joc, Young Slo Be, EBK Jaaybo, etc. Amazing music, but it became very apparent that Thizzler had a favorite. It seemed liked any nigga with EBK in front of his name was guaranteed a spot on the Thizzler roster. Hailing from a city that sits on the boarder of northern California, that many consider central California and culturally isn’t considered the Bay Area at all. This was just one of the many cheap tactics Thizzler used to stay trendy in a lane they already controlled. This was the ultimate slap in every Bay Area artists’ face.

So if anyone’s confused, Thizzler the media company, rebranded into a label. As a media company and label they monopolized Bay Area media, signed artists to 360 deals, and manipulated algorithms in favor of these artists to ultimately gain money and power over an already depleted scene. This example is a vital reason and one of the main factors that contributed to this agonizing reappraisal. I didn’t even touch on how they’ve monetized and still are monetizing off of artists who are no longer with us. Maybe next time.

Social Engagement is the new currency (clout over coins, sigh)

Now that we’ve addressed the slave master. Let’s address the slaves. The niggas who decided to shuck and jive to advance this agenda. But first we have to go back in time. Let’s look back at 2012 to about 2015. Hyphy Movement is dead. My generation (who’s now early 30’s) were the last ones to really understand and respect the hyphy movement for what it was and what it did for the region. But even with that respect, we knew that wasn’t us. My generation related more to Mob Music. Similar to Hyphy music, but not quite. Hyphy, in my opinion, was fueled by drug induced party nights where everybody was geeked off pills and ready to dance and have a good time. The Bay Area’s ghetto rendition of the 70’s disco/psychedelic scene. Mob Music was different. You might still be off a pill, but instead of dancing you tryna kill something. Mob music was the dark side of Bay Area culture. Hyphy feels like sideshows and niggas ghostriding the whip. Mob Music feels like 4 niggas in the car that’s finna bounce out and terrorize somebody block. That brings me to my next point.

By 2012, we’re past all that shit. The Bay Area is now searching for an identity. A new tree began to form with many branch offs. The two most notable was what I refer to as “The Post Mob Era” and the “Gentrified Hyphy Movement.” The post mob era for me was that time period where Philthy Rich dominated the market solo all up until the time One Mob formed. This was a pivotal time because the consensus of what was deemed cool was changing. A lot of people who listened to Philthy Rich around this time were anti-hyphy enthusiast. Folks thought that shit was corny. Although Philthy was not the most skilled rapper, his style and pimp persona felt authentic and more cool to his audience than shaking dreads and goin dumb.

The next branch off is the gentrified hyphy movement. The HBK era. I say gentrified in the sense that a lot of people who were either too young or too scared to be apart of the original movement were able to find a home in this new rendition of Hyphy. Don’t be confused HBK is legendary and their contributions have brought Bay Area music to new heights in the 2010’s. This movement was deemed cool by the creatives of the Bay. People who prioritize fun and art over money and materials. The artists who came out of this movement are the most successful today.

Now to the slaves. In 2012, Chief Keef hit the scene. And you’re probably wondering what does a Chicago rapper have to do with Bay Area hip hop? Everything. But not only here, the whole United States was experiencing a cultural shift. Drill music. Music to do a drill to. And of course, niggas began to follow trends.

The Bay Area has always had its share of fonk and diss records, but post 2012 unleashed a new beast. Social Media. Chicago’s rap and street scene was displayed for everybody to see and niggas started to follow suit. This is when we started to hear an influx of Chicago lingo and see mannerisms that weren’t previously present in Bay Area culture. Yes I’m talking about the “On 4nem” niggas. Yes I’m talking about the niggas who crack numbers. Yes I’m talking about the rappers who diss in every song. This shit began to change rapidly. Even though the Philthy Rich and the HBK era wasn’t a unified thing, people could look at both movements and still know it’s authentically Bay Area. We don’t know where these new niggas from.

These niggas are anti-Bay Area. They think Chicago, Detroit, Florida, Louisiana, and every where else is better than what’s goin on here. Brainwashed and enamored by gang culture in a place they’ve never been. How many Bay Area OTF niggas you know? Or 4KT? Or 4PF? How many times have you heard Bay Area niggas say “Slime”? Or Slat? Or “My Baby”? Y’all see where I’m goin with this? These niggas don’t wanna be from here. They imitate shit they see on social media in hopes of having the same success as Chief Keef or NBA Youngboy or any other outta state nigga they feel is poppin’.

So how is social engagement the new currency? Bay Area rappers are prioritizing viral moments over the actual music. Rappers sit on the internet and argue, vent on black screens, and have pissing matches with anyone who slightly intimidates them. This is learned behavior from what’s being broadcast on various different platforms. The rappers whose politics are more known than their catalog. Where skill is overshadowed by gimmicks. Where the mugshot is more popular than the album cover. Stuck on the hamster wheel. Deep in the sunken place.

Bay Area rappers have no media training. They have no business acumen. They have no marketing skills. Bay Area rappers think posting a single one time on Instagram is enough. They’ve completely disregarded proper rollouts. Niggas literally think they’re Beyoncé. Niggas think they can randomly drop a project and people are supposed to care.

They don’t want to do interviews. And if they do, they don’t wanna talk. They aren’t actively booking shows. Video shoots aren’t properly planned or thought out. No creativity. No treatments. Just a bunch of niggas with guns in ski masks. The music scene has become a popularity contest. A glorified fashion show. A congregation of opioid warriors and Glock models.

We’ve come to the point where we’re in a perpetual cycle of underachieving. The Bay Area music scene has literally left the music out of the scene. How much longer do we have to be subjected to the “40 with the 30” raps? The “knock a bitch make me rich” raps? These niggas have been rebapping the same stepped on formula for over 10 years now. It’s honestly getting to the point of delusion. Insainity actually. Repeating the same steps to get the same results. Nothin. A psych evaluation is desperately needed.

Ego has begun to outweigh talent. These rappers are more about self than the ecosystem as a whole. They rather look like they doing something than to actually be doing it. Image holds top rank over everything. Originality died and reincarnated itself into these social media characters we see today. I honestly believe that the rappers in the Bay Area would choose likes and followers over actual payment. Money is a great tool in the world we live in, but feeling like somebody is priceless. Social engagement is the new currency because 95% of Bay Area rappers have not monetized their brand or music. These artists exist only in the realm of social media. They have no real estate in the real music world. Their identity has been curated by the algorithm. These niggas be Ai as fuck.

Benefit of the doubt or do we doubt the benefit?

Even though I sat here and bashed Thizzler and the new generation Bay Area rappers— it’s not all bad. Thizzler has changed a lot of artists’ lives in a positive way. Being pulled from obscurity and catapulted into a household name in the region is a very special gift. I’m not mad at Thizzler or anti-Thizzler. All the artists who worked with them and for them accepted the terms of their contract. I’m sure Thizzler execs did not put a gun to anyone’s head or dangle anyone over a 50 story patio. Everybody there, wanted to be there. Koolaid smile and all. Also I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Thizzler’s greatest contribution— C Lee.

Them taking a chance and employing C Lee let me know that someone at Thizzler actually tried to have some type of journalistic integrity. Someone realized that honest social commentary is needed in these markets. This showed me that they weren’t all business. There was some cultural relevance still present.

So is Thizzler to blame for the current state of Bay Area hip hop? No. I think Thizzler, just like a lot of other media platforms are dealt the same cards. Society has shifted towards this microwaved media cycle whose main objective is virality. But is the tire shop at fault for selling shiny rims based off the current market? They might be known for tires, but should they miss out on revenue because rims aren’t their specialty? That’s for you to decide.

Let’s talk about the Chiraq minions. And I have to preface this by saying I love Drill music. I love competitive rap and diss records minus the senseless violence that’s attached to it. I love niggas that diss who can actually rap. I love “No Vaseline”. I love “Takeover”. I love “Ether”. Classic records that are not by any means positive. Lil Sheik has bangers. Chai Benji has bangers. Dreamlike Rizzy has bangers. Undeniable bangers where they diss the fuck out of people. I don’t think hip hop always has to be positive and uplifting. I think hip hop’s responsibility is to mirror an artists’ experience and be a gateway to genuine artistic expression. This works for rappers who really live that way. But as we all know, a lot of these niggas are unpaid actors.

There is absolutely a lane for this type of music—we’ve seen it historically with acts like N.W.A. People love having a peak into society’s underworld. It’s intriguing. It’s dangerous. It’s entertaining. But it only works if the audience believes the lyrics to be true or rooted in truth. No one can be upset about an artist expressing true feelings about their actual life. Experience is the greatest storyteller and artists who can turn their experience into art are usually the most successful.

But this ain’t about the truth tellers. This about the cap rappers. The rappers who’ve completely abandoned Bay Area culture. The Bay Area artists who cosplay as Chiraqians. The ones who think they’re from Baton Rouge. How can we cultivate this market if half of the artists rather be from somewhere else? Not to mention the artists who get a little buzz and immediately move to LA. This conversation can go many different ways for many, many hours. Bottomline, there’s an influx of Bay Area rappers who are going against the grain. It’s not a Bay Area thing. It’s not even a music thing. It’s a deep rooted societal issue. A lot of people, some whom are artists, have been desperately searching for an identity. The Bay Area is just a casualty to this epidemic. With the Bay Area being comprised of many cities, it’s virtually impossible for everyone to be on one accord. What’s acceptable in Oakland may not be acceptable in San Francisco. Vallejo’s standard may not match Richmond’s standard. Simply put, we can’t agree on shit.

How do the OG’s play a part in this? The long standing consensus amongst younger Bay Area artists is that the OG’s have been gatekeeping the knowledge needed to be successful in the region. Are they looking for an identity because the OG’s ignored them? Do these younger artists identify more with other places because home feels watered down? So many questions. No right or wrong answers. Just the same conversation.

I could write a full length novel about the many intricacies and micro intricacies of the Bay Area music scene so it was tough narrowing it down to just two things. Media and identity. The Bay Area has a watered down media infrastructure that prioritizes virality over culture. We’ve seen a regional media giant, Thizzler, rebrand into a label that monopolized the market and manipulated algorithms for financial gain. The Bay Area has an identity problem causing younger generations to value social engagement over everything. The new generation does not respect Bay Area culture so in turn they are emulating cultures outside of the region. They are using unoriginal tactics, popularized by out of state artists, to gain social engagement. Music is not the inspiration or motivating factor. Virality is now the prize.

I don’t have all the answers or any at all. I can only start the dialogue. Those of us who had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts—we wanted strong drink. They want total coverage.. but it was time, I felt, for an agonizing reappraisal of the whole Bay Area music scene. Auf Wiedersehen.

FIN

Previously on “Ready To Die”, we left off on a cliffhanger I guess. The girl, who we can refer to as Janae (or Nae), has moved to Georgia after revealing her step dad was sexually assaulting her. She also confirmed that she had an abortion and her step dad was the baby’s father. Read “The Girl Who Went to Church” before this. The next part of the story goes as follows:

As y’all can imagine I’m reading this email like “what the fuck”. They say curiosity killed the cat and my 9 lives had expired. I was a dead J-cat. Sometimes we rush into shit not knowing the baggage people carry. Not knowing the energy they harbor. I’m not blaming anything on Nae. She was a victim. I just ain’t expect shit to get so somber, so serious. My young mind could not process the severity of this situation. I was stuck in a continuous loop of confusion. Confusion that left me uneasy. Confusion that made me angry. Anxious. Dehydrated. I couldn’t eat, only water. Water kept me alive. I was knee deep in a Tyler Perry plot. Luckily in the midst of this bullshit the most unserious person calls me. My pops.

*Hello, this is a collect call from Parchman Prison for inmate [“Big Shawny”] to accept call please press 1.

Big Shawny: Junior what is it nigga?

Junior: Nothin much, just chillin

Big Shawny: Just chillin? You ain’t on no hoes? I know you ain’t dry like that on a Friday. Where yo mama at? Tell her to give you some money for the movies and I’ll send it to her.

Junior: It’s cool, I really ain’t even tryna go to the movies tonight.

Big Shawny: I know you ain’t trippin off ol girl that skipped town on you. Yeah yo mama told me. You gotta let shit go sometimes son.

Junior: That’s y’all problem, y’all don’t even know what happened… just gossiping. I thought a grown man wasn’t supposed to gossip?

Big Shawny: See you been hangin around yo mama nem too much, you sensitive. You my son, so yo mama concerned about why you walkin around lookin depressed with yo tail tucked between yo legs. Learn how to communicate or you gon suffer in silence. Yo mama give me anything I want. Why? Because I open my mouth and communicate.

Junior: Well shit….Nae was pregnant and had an abortion. It was Pastor Johnson baby. I guess he been messin with her since she was younger. I went over there and he was trippin on me. Now what?

Big Shawny: Trippin on you how!? And don’t call that nigga pastor nothin. His name Jared. Hoe ass Jared. I always knew brah was weird. R. Kelly ass nigga man.

Junior: He just told me don’t come by they house no more.

Big Shawny: You sure? Cause a cage can’t stop nobody from bein touched…

*You have (1) minute remaining.

Junior: I’m sure, they still gon transfer you back out here?

Big Shawny: Yeah most likely cause I got a case out there too. But I love you junior, tell yo moms to handle that for me. She gon know what you talkin bout. And if you ever get hungry, I can send you somewhere to grab a ham sandwich. Just let me know.

Junior: I love you too pops, and yeah I’ll let you know.

A bittersweet conversation fasho. On one end I respect the protector mentality, but also nigga look where yo decision making led you. I don’t know what’s worse, having no father or having a bad example for a father. Nonetheless, I wish my pops was out so he could beat Jared ass. My pops was a nigga on the streets. Some real pimpin, if you will. Real stomp downs from the deep-c to Tennessee. So much so, that his dumb ass went to jail in the south. I think my mama was some game too. Never confirmed cause obviously it’s a touchy subject, but all signs point to it. I’m not ashamed though, I guess it’s better than being a trick baby.

My pops was a rolling stone fasho. Nigga got kids in Richmond, Oakland, Vallejo, and even Sac. He always told me never trust a City bitch though. Thieves and set-up artists, he called em. Anyway, I don’t know any of my siblings on my pops side and I think he wanted it that way. It never bothered me cause before he went to jail 2 years ago I rarely seen him. I feel like he showed favoritism to his square baby mamas for whatever reason. You know niggas always striving to portray that “good man” image. Who knows though, maybe the square bm’s was doing more for him. I say all that to say, I think this was something I had to handle on my own. I ain’t need that nigga advice. I knew I had to kill the pastor.

I immersed myself with the thought of killing the pastor. How would I do it? Stab him? Shoot him? I ain’t never done no shit like this. Am I ready? Could I get away with it? I don’t wanna end up in jail like my pops. Washed up. But I can’t let this pedophile pastor continue to preach false words while terrorizing his people in private. So for that alone, I am hungry. So of course I took my pops up on that ham sandwich offer. Nigga sent me to a crackhead. A .38 special is what I got. I felt like Will Smith off of “Wild, Wild, West”. It wasn’t no turning back now, I ain’t wanna be one of those niggas who went down with a gun they never used. What a waste. I had to kill this nigga.

I’m spiraling on some nerd shit at this point. Watching every hood movie we got on DVD. Maybe I could walk up on him at Frosty King like they did the niggas who killed Harold on Menace II Society. Or if he try to wrestle with me, I could shoot him like Bishop did Raheem. What if I miss every shot? Six bullets go fast and I never shot a gun before. What if this nigga kill me? That’s gon fuck the streets up fasho. I had to get my tactics up. That was my only option. Otherwise, I was gon be a dead nigga. Or a jailbird, you know, the one that don’t fly.

the sun: Thriving or Dying

Everyday that summer, I woke up at 5:55am. 15 minutes before the sun came up. I don’t know if the sun was closer to the Earth that summer, but it looked bigger. It looked larger than life. I was absorbing it. It energized me. Gave me motivation to get my ass up and go stalk this pedophile. I was consumed with it. My life would not be complete until it’s done.

I followed him for a week straight. His dumb ass ain’t know a thing. Slippin. A predator with no street prowess. I learned his whole routine. It wasn’t nothing much, he was at the church Monday-Friday from 9 to 5. Bullshittin. Saturdays and Sundays, he stayed until 9 or 10 at night. Every Friday night he got chili cheese fries from Frosty King. Monday-Thursday was a no go because it had to be nighttime. Saturday and Sunday his family never left his sight, so that was out too. Damn I really gotta kill this nigga in front of Frosty King.

So Friday comes around, of course. Shit that you dread never waste time to arrive. I’m up at 5:55am, per usual. The sun is rising at 6:10am, per usual. My confidence ain’t as high today though. I’m not as prepared as I should be. Them movies ain’t help shit. Ima get my ass killed thinking I’m Tupac. I ain’t care though, I was crashing out either way. The day goes by and it’s like a hour before the sun goes down. I started to get ready. I knew he would be going to Frosty King straight from church, so I had to put a move on it.

I’m so boosie though. I’m in the bathroom mirror posing with the gun. Looking like America’s Next Top Glock Model. Ain’t even have a Glock, I had a rusty ass .38, that held 6 shots. I’m finna spank this nigga with somethin so bunk. It was cold that day. The sun was out, but cold nonetheless. So I threw on a black trench coat with a black hoodie under. Black sweats, black forces, and a black beanie. I had to get dusty for the occasion.

Mama: YOU THINK YOU A MAN WITH THAT GUN IN YO HAND!?

I dropped the gun in the sink when she said that. Water still running and hella shit. I hurried up and put it in my hoodie and opened the bathroom door.

Me: What you say mama? I couldn’t hear you.

Mama: What movie that’s from? “You think you a man with that gun in yo hand, don’t you?”

Me: “Ima man without it”

She started laughing. I joined her.

Me: Friday, who don’t know that?

Mama: I’m just making sure I raised you right. It’s black people who never seen a black movie.

Me: That’s crazy, I’m finna go though.

Mama: Where you goin dressed like that?

Me: Hilltop with my potnas.

Mama: Oh where you get some money from?

Me: Pops had Uncle Charlie give me some money.

Mama: I wish Uncle Charlie woulda gave me some too. Ain’t that somethin. Mmhmmm.

Me: Aight, I’m outta here mama. I’m gettin on the 76, the next one come in 5 minutes.

Mama: Ok, I love you be safe.

Me: I love you too, and pops said can you handle that for him? He said you know what he talkin bout.

Mama: Nigga you late, did that last week. You need to get on it, you ain’t been focused.

Me: Aight mama, I’ll see you later.

She was right. I wasn’t focused at all. I got on the 76 in the direction of Frosty King. The 76 passed the church too. His car was still there like I thought it would be. I knew he’d probably be on his way there in the next 20 minutes. My palms is sweaty, moms spaghetti. I’m feeling like B Rabbit. Hopefully I don’t Cheddar Bob myself. It was cold as fuck outside, but I’m on the bus sweating. I know them people probably thought I was off a jigga. I ring the bell, next stop Frosty King.

So I made it chat. I’m here. Frosty King aka Murder Burger. The shadiest place to get food in the Rich. But I wasn’t there to do a food review, I was there to push this nigga shit back. I had already put my O.J gloves on when I was on the bus. When I got off I put on my ski mask. Not the sleek, fashion forward ass ski masks you see today. This was the black beanie on my head that I had to cut holes into. So I already had it on, just had to pull it down. The sun sets and I take a seat on the red part of the curb. Head down, ready to crash out.

It was pretty dry for a Friday night, but then again this ain’t the safest place to dine so it made sense. I watched traffic go by, just waiting. Waiting for that big ass white Hummer to pull in. What type of preacher drive a Hummer anyway? Still sitting there. Still waiting. Hand on my strap like a stud. Impatient. Anxious. Then boom. He pulls in. Nigga was slappin Donnie McClurkin “We Fall Down” like the bitch ass nigga he is. Perpetrating.

He sits in the car for a few minutes. I’m shaking, finna have a panic attack. He turns the music down and answers the phone. I hear a lady say something about Nae but I couldn’t make out what. His face stays the same and he hangs up shortly after. I’m over it at this point. Should I just walk up to the car and drop his windows? Should I wait until he get out and order his food? I should have thought about this shit before I got here. What a dumbass. Another car pulls into the parking lot. Black jeep. Older nigga. He bounce right out and start walking towards the window. The pastor see him and bounce out too. He was tryna race him to order.

I stand up. And my stomach drops to my ass. You know that feeling when you so scared it feel like diarrhea finna shoot out? That was me, stuck. Plus I botched the hole cutting portion, so I couldn’t see shit. At this point, these niggas had already made it to the window. The pastor beat him there, of course. Conniver. That moment alone sparked my anger back up because he always had to have it his way. Oh yeah, I’m following through. I reach in my hoodie to grab my bulky tool. And before I could pull it out…

“You hungry?”

The random OG nigga intervened. I must of looked like a fucking bum the way he was concerned with feeding me.

OG: What you want? It’s on me young blood.

I froze up. How ima shoot em with OG in my way? I couldn’t. I didn’t. My nerd ass watched the pastor get back in his Hummer and drive off.

OG: If you don’t want no food, at least take a pamphlet.

I grabbed the pamphlet, didn’t say nothing, and walked away. Mission failed. I look at the pamphlet and it’s fucking ONS. Go look it up if you’re not familiar. Oh, the irony. In my head, I ain’t do it because there was a witness. Truth be told, I was just scared. Even if the OG wasn’t there, I would have still froze up. This gotta be how Shawn felt when he couldn’t kill Ghost. A disappointment.

petunia, the black one

I got back home feeling worse than when I had left. I went straight to my room. Didn’t even acknowledge my mama. She ain’t care she was drinking her wine watching “The Parkers”. I felt like isolation was needed. I had to reset. I had to lock in. Sitting alone in my four-cornered room, staring at candles. I even thought about praying at one point. I couldn’t though. I wasn’t down bad enough to get on bending knee and pray to white Jesus. That was out.

I stayed in my room all Friday night and all of Saturday too. I wasn’t doing nothing but looking at the wall. Wall looking back at me. Dry. Sunday comes and like a phoenix, I rise from the ashes. I hop up, shower, and get dressed. I told my mama I’m coming to church with her today. Pastor Jared Johnson’s church. She was shocked. I haven’t went with her since elementary. I had no plan, something just told me to go.

I was bringing my gun too, no doubt about it. This Richmond, niggas get shot in churches too. So my mama turnt up off that Mary Mary “Shackles” while she finish her blunt. Talking bout “I just wanna blaze you”, bogus as hell. To make matters worse, she sprayed a gallon of White Diamond perfume to mask the weed smell. I don’t know, it made my head hurt though. But she was ready and so was I.

We ain’t really talk on the ride over and it’s not a long drive. She high, in her zone. And I’m thinking about killing this nigga while he give his sermon. She pull up to the church parking lot and everybody just getting there too. Her high ass drove over a curb, drawing hella attention to us. I’m buzzed out, ready to get inside.

Pastor: Young man, I ain’t seen you in here in a minute. Good to see you again, how was your Frosty King the other night?

I coulda popped his ass right there. Right at the entrance. He was taunting me. Old pervert bitch. But before I could say something..

Mama: When you get some Frosty King and ain’t bring me none?

Pastor: Hey sister Jackson, don’t get me to startin problems.

He hugs her and looks me dead in my eye behind her back on some movie villain shit. I’m blowed. I’m doing it after his sermon. He know what time it is. He begging me to make a move. The pastor walks to the back to get ready. We go to our seats. Not gon lie, it was a packed house. You woulda thought Kirk Franklin was finna perform. The pastor had good jerry. Had all them folks in there brainwashed.

He in there pressing them broke ass people for tithes and offerings, but riding around in a Hummer. All these folks live in low income housing, but y’all got the biggest joint on the block. You the leader of the church, but you out here raping little girls. This nigga wasn’t no leader. He wasn’t no pastor. He was the devil himself.

Pastor: Good morning church.

Church: Good morning, pastor.

Pastor: God is good…

Church: All the time!

Pastor: & all the time…

Church: God is good!

They in there turnt like he really said something. Everybody though, even my mama. I’m disgusted.

Pastor: Today we are here to talk about the steps of a righteous man.

The audacity. I’m ready to do it now. I’m ready to crash out in front of the whole church. Fuck it, ima just go to jail and politic with my pops when they transfer him. This nigga playing in people face. Ima just do it. So I stand up. Look around. Walk to the aisle and BOOM!

“RPD! We have a warrant for Jared Johnson”

Whole church go into pandemonium. All you hear is lord and Jesus throughout the building. People speaking in tongues and catching the Holy Ghost. I heard a few “that ain’t nothin but the devil” comments. It was getting real religious in there. Them people ain’t know what to do. They started to malfunction. Glitching in real life. This old lady just kept saying “no no no, no no no”. Shit was like the twilight zone for a good 2 minutes. Then somebody said..

“What’s the charges officer”

Officer: Sexual assault and human trafficking.

They cuff him and walk him out. The church is in shambles. Richmond PD start searching the building and questioning people. His wife, Janae’s mom, hands me a piece of paper and walks off to talk to the police. My mama grabs me and starts heading towards the door. She was paranoid cause she was high smelling like weed. We leave out and it’s news cameras, police cars, regular cars… hella shit going on.

We barely make it out. It’s serious. We make it home and my mama instantly roll up and get on the phone with my auntie being messy. Talking bout her nerves bad. Yeah mine too. I don’t wish jail on nobody. I much rather that nigga got popped or something. But beggars can’t be choosers. I looked at the paper Nae mom gave me. It was a number.

So I called..

Nae: Hello.

I paused for a second. Shit ain’t feel real after all the shit that happened since I last talked to her. She sounded sleepy though, or high.

Me: Wassup it’s me.

Nae: Um hello, who is me?

Me: Stop playin bro its Junior.

Nae: [faintly] oh junior, love of my li…

She started slurring her words and coming in and out of the conversation.

Me: Hello?? What’s goin on? Why you sound like that?

Nae: Why you care so much? Ima make my money regardless..

Me: What the fuck are you talkin bout? Is you good?

Nae: I’m great baby daddy, I’m great..

She bust out laughing. I’m talking bout, I heard the spit come out her mouth through the phone. One of those crazy people laughs. Jean George type shit. This was funny to her. She had lost her fucking marbles. Sound like she was laced.

Me: Man what’s goin on with the facility, you still there?

Nae: Nigga I was never there. He sold me to a pimp. You the only dummy out here livin life like its a fairytale. I fuck tricks every day and get my ass beat. What a life.

Me: Hold on, slow down. That shit finna be over, Pastor Johnson went to jail.

Nae: How? How it’s gon be over Junior? That don’t mean shit. Once you in this life, that’s all its gon ever be. I ain’t gon never be nothin. I make it out this, then what? I go back to livin a regular life? I get married? Have kids? Fuck that and fuck you. You don’t know shit but what you know.

Me:………

I had nothing to say.

Nae: Like I thought. How you think you finna save me? Save yoself.

And hangs up. And just like that all I could hear was “Fine Time” by SWV. You picked a fine time to tell me you don’t love me. You picked a fine time to tell me you don’t care. What a life.

Mixed up in my emotions, I realized along the way that I lost the plot. It became more about me than anybody else. In my pursuit to find togetherness, the situation caused us to grow apart. Nothing grows unless you water it. The seeds you plant need nurturing. Ego and nature don’t mix. Ego is unnatural. Ego thinks he’s the sun. But the sun gives. The sun gives life. The sun brings about a new day. A new beginning. A new chance to make it right.

The concrete rose is beautiful and special. Tells a story of realized potential. Gives hope. But what happens when life forces you to be dark? Devoid of light. Will you embrace the emptiness or slip away into the abyss? The Black Petunia. Rare.

fin

The girl who went to church always piqued my interest. We grew up together. The first time I seen her I think she was praise dancing to Yolonda Adam’s or some shit. In my eyes, she was an angel. Innocent. Pure. All the things that make kids precious. Real Bible thumper. She kept da good book on her hip like a glock. I honestly couldn’t tell you if it was the Old Testament, New Testament, King David or Steve Drive. All I know is she wore that muthafucka with every outfit.

Her folks seemed to have they shit together. Me and my folks lived in the projects, but they lived in a house a few blocks up. Her step daddy was the pastor so I assume they was havin’. Her real pops got killed in the streets. They say her moms got with the pastor nigga a month after baby dad got killed, but you know how people talk. They were a church family. She had two little brothers. Same routine, school and church. I barely ever seen her in our younger years. The mama and the pastor nigga had her put up. She was an enigma.

I remember riding down the street one night on my way home and seeing the girl on the side of her house crying. I was still a young nigga so I definitely didn’t stop and see what was wrong. I kept it pushing. In that moment, I just didn’t understand how someone who loved God so much could be sad. My carelessness turned into curiosity. Why the fuck was she crying? I got home and told myself I would find out. She was always avoiding me though. I mean I never went out my way to speak either, but you can always tell when someone is avoiding you.

Elementary ends. Years passed. I didn’t see the girl too much in middle school. We get to high school and guess who I see on the first day? Sistah Mary Clarence. But this time was different.

“Where yo Bible at foo”, I said with a smirk.

“At yo house”, she said back with a choosy face.

At that point I was unimpressed. I’m like that’s yo Sundays best? We ain’t spoke not one word to each other ever in life and you spit some unoriginal game at me like I’m just play pimpin?

That was the equivalent to “without me?”, after a girl say she getting in the shower. I allowed it though. Remember, I was yet to complete my mission.

So I’m like,

“You know yo folks ah have a heart attack if you left yo shit at my joint”.

“Fuck them they need to have one yesterday”, she said with a straight face.

I’m like oh lord this girl brains is cooked. You know, I’m young and judgemental. At the time she was sounding dumb, but in hindsight she was really tryna check my spiritual temperature. I didn’t peep her troubled soul. I didn’t understand that she was baiting me. She also had a mission. Long story short, she gave me her number.

We talked. We texted. We had sex at 14. It was neither of our first time, but she definitely had to show me where to put it in. I’ll spare the details since we were kids. I was happy. I was in love. I was content. The mission I had in elementary didn’t even matter no more. I ain’t give a fuck why she was crying in front of her house in the 5th grade. Until I did. My mama asked me about the girl. She asked if I looked in her eyes lately. I said not really. She said you’ll never know the hurt a woman carries until you really look into her eyes. I ain’t know if my mama had just watched “The Color Purple” or was genuinely putting me on game, either way I knew it was time.

Up to this point, our conversations were pretty surface level. We used to talk about her being a Christian and how I wasn’t. I told her how the slave masters used Christianity to control us mentally and manipulate us spiritually. She told me without God, don’t none of this exist. I told her we both God. She told me that’s why we were made in his image. I said energy. She said spirit. We were playing the same song, just a different key.

I’ll always remember one conversation we had in particular. We were sitting on the stairs smoking outside of my mama joint. It went as follows:

Me: So wassup with dat Jesus shit for real?

Her: Nigga what do you mean that Jesus shit?

Me: Like yall really believe that shit? Or y’all just be bullshittin so yall can police everybody?

Her: So you believe in the stars, the moon and the universe and shit, but draw the line at J. Christ? That’s crazy.

Me: So learn me something, cause I’m yet to see a nigga walk on water.

Her: I’m just saying, you can’t have one without the other. You thinking small not big. Imagine the universe doing all these amazing things and a nigga somewhere in that universe can’t walk on water? Make it make sense. Everybody need something to believe in. Don’t mean it’s right. Don’t mean it’s wrong. Just something to believe in.

Me: Glory Hallelujah, I’m ready to get baptized and turn my life around.

Her: You play. I hated my baptism.

Me: Why?

Her: Cause my hair got wet!

Me: See now you thinking small not big.

Her: The whole day was a buzz. You know girls hate feeling dirty. I felt dirty that day. And my hair being wet didn’t make it no better.

Me: Had to wash them devils off of you.

Her: You ain’t lying.

We continued the conversation on a lighter, less political note. We bonded over a blunt that was not hitting because we smoked it outside. The genuine happiness to be in each other’s presence provided warmth as we sat in the cold. That particular night I don’t think we believed in anything but each other.

part 2, 1 Corinthians 13:6

We were closer than close, wasn’t using condoms no nothin. Something was still off. She was still a mystery. There was still more to be said. More to learn. The thing about life though, when you ask you will receive. The real question is can you handle what you’re receiving? Is what you’re receiving worth knowing?

The information I received at 14, was that my 14 year old girlfriend was pregnant. She came to me crying, I was at home watching 106 & park. “Say Something” by Timbaland and Drake was playing which was ironic because I was incapable of saying anything. I was scared, terrified. What the fuck my mama gon say? How the fuck ima take care of a baby? I was confused. I knew I always pulled out, but I also heard the stories about pre cum getting girls pregnant.

I was definitely anxious, but she was devastated. Her cry was uncontrollable. The kind of cry people let out when they witness a murder. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot red. It was very uncomfortable to watch. I couldn’t console her. Shit, I couldn’t console myself. Defeated. That’s the only word to describe how we felt.

I never told my mama about the girl being pregnant. She still doesn’t know. The girl on the other hand missed two months of school. The teachers told us she had surgery and didn’t feel well enough to attend class. She stopped answering my calls. Stopped replying to texts. I was never allowed to come to her house, so I couldn’t just knock on the door. I walked past her house everyday after school and never saw her. I knew something was up. She hated them. She would never willingly confine herself. She loved outside. She loved me.

So one day, I said fuck it and dropped my nuts. I knocked on the door. The pastor nigga opened the door. The conversation went as follows:

Pastor nigga: Why the fuck yo lil ass knockin on my door after dark? You lil niggas be askin for it.

Pressed me. Whole time he clutching. Like he knew. I’m on some nerd shit no gun, knife, slingshot, nothin. My pops was in jail, so it wasn’t like I can go get that nigga. Can’t scare a nigga with a phone call. But the pastor nigga was extra on tip, I’m peepin his energy.

Me: My bad pastor, I was just tryna see if yo step daughter been ok. They sayin she had surgery.

Pastor nigga: You think you slick huh lil nigga? I know why you here.

Me: I dont know what you talkin bout, I’m just checkin on my classmate.

Pastor nigga: Nigga y’all fuckin.

Looked me dead in my eyes when he said it. I’m shook at this point. On the other end I’m wondering why this nigga so mad over his step daughter but I digress. So I’m standing there speechless because obviously he know something. Tell me why this nigga start buffin’ my lil ass. He stepped outside, closed the door, and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. I’m talking about dangling like a pit bull when you grab ’em by the neck.

Me: Bro, bro, bro

Pastor nigga: Aint no bro lil nigga. You lucky I don’t kill you and say you tried to break in my house. She don’t live here no more. We sent her down south to stay with her auntie. And that’s cause she fast and you can’t keep yo dick in yo pants. I did y’all a favor. Yeah she had a surgery. The kind that erases y’all fuck up. Go home lil nigga.

Then he shoved me off the porch. Left my shirt drunk and feelings hurt. I’m walking home not knowing how to feel honestly. My girl gone. My baby gone. I just got super pressed by her step pops. Was he right? Maybe he did do us a favor. I wonder how she felt about everything. Or how she felt during the process. Do she hate me for not being there? Hate me for not protecting her against her parents? Did she wanna keep it? Get rid of it? I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

So obviously I go into a deep depression. Black hoodies and beanies in the summertime type of depression. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t focus. Every time I managed to get some sleep I would have the same dream, or nightmare. The baby’s face. I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl, I just knew the baby was mine. It haunted me though. I was being punished spiritually. I could not focus on anything else but this. My grades dropped because of this. I had to go to summer school for the first time in my life because of this. This thing had taken over my life.

One day in summer school as I’m listening to Goapele on my I-pod, I look around and noticed the room looked familiar. This was the class me and her had together. I didn’t notice initially because after the incident, I skipped that class everyday. I wanted to forget, but there I was remembering every thing. I remembered how she always wanted to debate me specifically. How she would look at me and smile. What I remembered next is what opened pandora’s box.

When we had this particular class together we would always email each other on the computers when we got bored. I wanted to reminisce so I hopped on one of the computers to look at our old messages. What I saw shocked me. I had an unread message from her in my inbox. The date lined up to around the time the pastor nigga buffed me. Maybe a week or two prior to that. The message reads as follows:

Dear loml,

I know this will reach you one day, you’re smart. I really don’t even know where to start. But I’ll say I love you. I’ll always love you. I really hope nothing I tell you makes you look at me different. I always wanted to be honest with you and I was for the most part. But there are certain things about my life, myself… that I can’t even face. I cry every night. I’ve cried every night since the 5th grade. Since my baptism. That was the first time he raped me. He raped me in the morning and baptized me that afternoon. He kissed me and told me I was always prettier than my mama. We was in his office in the church when it happened. I thought this was how all girls had their first time. I cried in pain as he moaned with pleasure. I was bleeding and he kept going. Kept going until he finished. He told me it had to stay between us. Made me put my hand on the Bible and swear by it. Said if I told anybody I would be betraying God’s trust. He said that’s why you’re getting baptized. It’s your reward from God for what you gave me. He hugged me and told me I was a woman now. A part of me died that day. I felt dirty. Like a stain that won’t come out. This pain was tattooed on me forever. So after my baptism I cried on the side of my house for hours. I thought it would be a distant memory but he continued to rape me every night up until now. I wish my mama didn’t work nights. Maybe if she was there he wouldn’t have to use me. I hate her for not asking me what was wrong. I hate her for not being there. I hate myself for letting him get me pregnant. It was never yours and I knew. I made sure you pulled out. Him on the other hand never gave me a choice. I never wanted it to be like this. I wanted to tell you but he knew right away. He made my mama believe that it was yours. He convinced her to take me to the doctors office and get an abortion. My mama never said a word to me about it. She just made sure I was ready for the appointment when it came. We didn’t talk in the car on the way. Or at the doctors office. Or on the car ride back. The baby my step dad put inside of me was no more. And neither was I. The next morning they found me on the bathroom floor foaming at the mouth because I swallowed a handful of pills. I’m in Georgia with my auntie now. They have me at this youth rehab place. They said I’m a drug addict. They said my drug addiction led to promiscuity. They said that’s the reason for my teen pregnancy. I just thought you should know so you don’t think I got rid our baby. I know you’ll be a good dad someday. I always loved you more than I love myself. You gave me a reason to love. And without you here there is no reason to live. I’m going to continue to try and kill myself. This version of my existence is unable to move on. I hope I see you in another lifetime. I still believe in God but less in people. Please find something to believe in as much as I believed in you.

-the girl that went to church

The end

So it’s Christmas Eve of 2015 and surprisingly I’m not in the mood to put that shit on. Instead the mood was “the holidays ain’t the holidays no more”, you know the vibes be off when everybody on boosie shit. With that being said, it was a normal day for me. I was casually looking for some freaks on Snapchat, when I noticed I had a message.

exoticfvreign: you from Oakland?

officialscoob: Fuck no lol im from da Rich.. where u from?

exoticfvreign: Lol im from Sac.. I just asked cause that’s where you were in your snap.

So of course, I go watch her snap to see what its talking bout forreal. Cool lil asian bitch, tatted up, posting bankroll here and there type shit. At this point I wasn’t moved by the Christmas spirit, it was the freaky bum vibes that motivated my actions to come.

officialscoob: oh so u watching me huh? I feel it lol

exoticfvreign: a little lol you’re not doing anything for the holidays?

officialscoob: Nah im a Jehovah witness I don’t celebrate holidays

exoticfvreign: lmfao bye! You play

exoticfvreign: Probably finna go on a date with yo bitch lol

And honestly, at this moment I should have left her ass right in them chats. Any bitch that assume you got a bitch before asking is a red flag. Sidenote: I also hate when bitches try to pull that foreign card, you from Sacramento bro. None of that matters though because I still chose to consciously proceed.

officialscoob: you my bitch, so where we finna go?

exoticfvreign: lmfao u really play

officialscoob: Im not playin, all I want for Christmas is you lol

exoticfvreign: you gonna come to Sac?

officialscoob: If u come get me

exoticfvreign: If I come get you, you gotta spend the night.

officialscoob: Ok

So I sent her the address she could pick me up from and we set it up for the next day. I know exactly what y’all thinking, she drove to Richmond from Sac to come pick up a stranger she met on Snapchat so he could spend the night on Christmas. Yes. We were both horny and probably longing for intimacy. It’s dry not having nobody to fuck during the holidays. I was juiced cause I probably was just gon get drunk and watch the grinch. But the universe had different plans for me, the gift of coochie.

Chapter two: December 25

Christmas is here, Moms got the joint smelling good. Good greens, good yams, good mac n cheese, good ham, good dressing, hella shit. You know me, I’m throwing back shots of eggnog. I’m getting dressed, spraying my cologne, and things. I hear my mama say

“Where you goin”.

I say “Around the corner”.

“On Christmas”, she reply. I can see the disappointment in her face. “Why you never wanna stay here with me on the holidays”, she add.

“Who wanna be in the house all the time”, I say.

“Mmmhmm I guess”, she say.

Damn am I a bad son for ditching my mom on Christmas to go have sex with a random bitch I met on snapchat? At this point, I was already too deep in… she was on her way. She arrives about a hour and a half later, and I gather my belongings. I made sure to grab stick, just in case a nigga thought about climbing through any windows.

I get in her whip, cool lil Honda nothing extravagant. The first thing she says

“You know anybody who got Xans”.

No Hi, Hey, nothing. I respect straightforward shit but all I could think is crackhead.

“Nah I don’t actually”, I say.

“Ok what about weed”, she say.

I’m like “Fasho, I’ll tell you where to go”. “Dat exotic foreign.. what’s yo real name?” I follow.

“Nina, what’s yours?”, she reply.

“Scoob”, I say.

“Yo mama did not name you that”, she say.

I’m like “You wanna see my ID?”. “He up here though to the left”, I say as we pull up to the weedman.

She hand me the money as bro walking up to the car. Soon as I roll my window down

She go “Do you know who got Xans?”.

He give her that “and who the fuck are you” look that Day Day gave the bitch in the restaurant. So he shake his head and serve me. I’m thrown off, but not enough to cancel the plans. We kick one to Sac and I’m like bladadah. Conversation was cool all the way there. I’m picking her brain tryna see where them random bankrolls she been posting was coming from. She had a regular job. A pharmacy, maybe. She was one of those girls who post pimp bait. Vacations, hotel mirror pics, hella money. Didn’t quite have the body for the club, but definitely acceptable enough to go crazy on the blade. But as we’re talking more and more I’m realizing that she wasn’t no game. She just had the hoe aesthetic. That’s neither here nor there, just my observation.

We get to Sac and y’all can probably guess the first thing she said. Yes, she said something about Xans. At least this time she knew where to get em. So at this point I’m like damn. Am I ugly? Do she need the Xan to fuck me? Do she feel catfished? I’m quiet. She pull up to da Xan nigga, get like 6 of them thangs. She ask if ima take em with her and of course I say yes. Doing anything just like a crackhead. We pull up to her folks joint. Idk where the fuck they was at cause we was definitely in that bitch to the neck. I’m walking through the living room seeing hella Buddha statues and pictures with crazy letters on em. I just kept thinking I know this bitch parents hate her and she got the nerve to have a black nigga all in they lil sanctuary.

We get to her room and she get to straightening up. I just laugh to myself and start getting comfortable. She give me one to pop and she throw two in a soda. We gettin high listening to music, laughing, all the shit. Idk if it was the Xans or what, but she kept rambling on and on. I couldn’t wait for her to shut up to be real. The drugs started to set in. One thing about Xans, them mfs gon have you nodding off like a real fein. So I guess she caught me in a nod and decided to keep me awake. With what you ask? Some top of course.

She pull my dick out and start sucking on my shit in slow motion on some high shit. So I’m definitely anticipating a long night. I start pushing her head down, you know so she could really get into it. Her motion never changed. But I can deal with bunk head, cause I really came for the pussy. I get on top and start rubbing my dick on her clit on some porno shit. Before I knew it my whole dick slipped in. How I grew up, it should be some resistance before entry. It was like somebody had already kicked this door in. I was wandering around in a house with no walls or belongings. I get my last lil pumps in, I really ain’t care if I was going crazy or not. I was disappointed and ready to KO off them sleeping pills. So like Bobby and Whitney we got high, fucked, and took our dumbasses to sleep.

chapter three: December 26

We wake up around 9 or 10, still sleepy off the shit. I’m instantly ready to cut, the vibes was not vibing. She drive back to Richmond from Sac. Since we in Richmond we decide its best I drive now. We stop at a gas station and she give me another one to pop, pops one herself, and puts the other one in a soda. I’m back activated off the rebap so we start bending corners. I’m doing hella shit in her lil Honda. I even go pick up my potna.

We driving around for a good 20 mins, dry forreal. We drive past the store on 15th and Cutting and we see some of our other potnas. I’m in the driver seat highsiding, whole back turned saying what’s up to them as I’m driving.

BOOM! My dumb high ass bap into a parked car. She in the car going crazy screaming and hella shit. My potna in the backseat no seatbelt on moving like a rag doll. My potnas down the street laughing and talking shit. I’m in the drivers seat shamed. So like a real nigga I pull off and go in front of my potna in the backseat joint. We get there and all bounce out. She start having a panic attack and rightfully so, her whole bumper was crushed in. My potna mama outside and she pull me to the side.

“You was driving?”, she ask me.

I go “Yeah I was”.

She like “How long you knew her?”.

“Since yesterday forreal”, I reply.

“Don’t give that bitch none of yo information, she should have insurance”, she say.

“I’m already knowing, she don’t know shit about me”, I say.

Terrible. But not really, cause I was still willing to help her figure it out. We smoked, then she called her folks and the insurance company. She still tripping out but she more calm than before. She was really concerned about what her Mom and Dad was gon say. At this point, she back on me wanna be hugged up and shit.

She say “You really fuck with me?”.

I’m like “Yeah of course I fuck with you.. why you say that?”.

“I just need to know you really fuck with me, cause I don’t even care about this car shit like that”, she say.

“I do”, I say back.

“Ok if you take a selfie with me and let me post it, I won’t even trip off you paying for the car”, she say.

In my head, I’m like that’s it? This bitch is insane. So I fasho take the selfie like I’m her forever nigga. She juiced, feeling her game. I kinda think she had a concussion, she start tryna post hella videos of us and in one she like “Don’t play with my nigga, he a kill you”. First of all, as a asian bitch why you calling me yo nigga. And two, bitch I’m not finna kill nobody don’t even put that energy into the atmosphere. So I’m thrown off again, ready for her to cut. After another hour of us chilling outside, I finally send her on her way. Bumper hanging off and all.

Everything’s regular the next couple of days, on my end at least. Nina on the other hand had hella shit going on. They denied her hit and run claim that she filed because they detected that a seatbelt was in use at the time of the crash. This contradicted her initial statement because she claimed her car was parked at the time of the accident. Being the real man that I am I told her I would still help pay to get it fixed.

The next day after her insurance claim was denied, I get a call. This time she’s crying and saying her cousin is a fake bitch. It all honestly sounded like gibberish. So long story short, after a long night of doing coke and whatever else she ends up losing her wallet that had her ID and bank card in it. So naturally, I’m thrown off again. But I let her vent. A few days pass and we don’t talk. I get another call, an angry one. She’s calling me all kinda broke ass niggas and telling me I must be fucking with another bitch. She was right, I was definitely broke and I definitely had bitches. I was thrown off again, but this was the last time.

Her life was literally falling apart in a week of me knowing her and her main concern was if I was fucking with other bitches? Between the coke and delusion, I was ready to throw in the towel. And I did. I also blocked her. God can strike me down if I’m lying, she called me every morning at 6am from text now numbers for 6 months straight. Some days she was cussing and yelling at the phone. Other days she would be crying and begging to fuck with me again. No matter the day, the text now number got blocked.

She used to make fake pages to stalk me on social media. I used to post “free bro” shit and whoever I was saying free, she would comment and be like I can’t wait till he get out so I can fuck him. I used to post dead niggas and she would say I wish he was still alive I woulda fucked him. At this point I’m being harassed with no sign of relief ahead. So at least I thought. By the grace of God, another nigga I know knocks her and she finally stops cyber bullying me.

I guess the moral of the story is don’t do drugs. Don’t meet people off the internet. And most importantly don’t be a freaky bum.

The end

The story begins summer of 2014 and like so many other days that summer, I was up early putting that shit on. I remember the energy I carried with me around that time, it was simple, I was tryna get CHOSE. Y’all know that feeling when you get your first whip? Yeah I was gone, everyday, crack of dawn. And not to mention, that Thugger “Lifestyle” had just dropped, cutting up you hear me?

This particular day I always remember because it was my first time wearing this new orange hoodie I bought from H&M. I was too juiced, I kept saying “I’m feeling orange today, how many hoes ima peel”. So as I’m slapping and being boosie in the mirror I hear:

“Tee! Tee! Tafari Deshawn Makonnen, I know you hear me calling you nigga!” I pause Jeffrey ass and see what she wants.

“Wassup Mama”, I said.

“Nigga you aint hear me callin you? You need to turn that music down”, she said with a smirk.

“You right my bad”, I replied.

“Mhmmm huh look at you, where you goin?” she said.

“Just around the corner”, I answered.

“That’s a nice hoodie, you always got some nice new clothes”, she said sarcastically.

This was her way of saying “Damn nigga you buying all these clothes but ain’t help with not one bill”. So of course I was off her, time to go. What Boosie say? Devils get up off me.

I know y’all probably in y’all head like nigga get to the story. Be patient, I must give a proper backstory. I can’t come in hot and say “Oh yeah so I’m fucking this nigga bitch blah blah blah”, that’s distasteful plus I have to build suspense.

I leave the house and just sit in the car for like 20 or 30 minutes figuring out where I’m going, but mainly to stop hearing my mama mouth. So after a hundred instagram refreshes and a good wood, I had built up quite the appetite. I was in the mood for Mexican food and I usually go to Taqueria Chavinda, but this day I wanted to be seen so I went to La Flor de Jalisco.

I start bending blocks and its a beautiful day, the type of days you only see in Richmond. You know me I’m slugged up, windows down, cheesing. I pull up to the burrito truck and it’s hella people there. I’m talking about no parks packed. It was mostly Mexicans but still packed nonetheless. So as I’m parking on the street, somebody else is parallel parking right in front of me. Cool lil Lexus but no bars.

“Beep, Beeeeep”, I honk because you ain’t finna hit my lil ford.

“Beep, Beeeeep, Beeeeeeeeeep”, they honk back.

At this point I’m like damn what if they trippin? What if it’s the suckas? So I wait until they park. White bitch yoke out the whip looking like Ariana Grande, I’m starstruck. Dr. Umar woulda gassed my dumbass because no pun intended I was on her like white on rice. I bounce out and say:

“What is it? Where I know you from?”, game so boosie.

She like “You know we follow each other on instagram”, with a lil choosy smile.

I put it together in my head like OH that issss you. I play dumb like:

“Show me in yo phone cause I don’t be following everybody”.

She like “Boy shut up you be liking all my pics”, as she shows me her page.

Shamed my dumbass, got me looking thirsty as hell. I’m like:

“Shit you might as well put my number in there I don’t even be on this shit like that”, she never asked but I just thought I should tell her.

She laughs and says “Yeah what is it?”

I’m like “Man what’s funny”, and at this point we’re walking toward the burrito truck together like we knew each other for years.

She like “You! Actin like you ain’t recognize me SCOOB, or datscoob I should say.. what? I don’t look like my pics?”

I’m juiced I’m thinking like oh yeah this bitch really think she know me too, saying my nickname hella shit.

“Nah you do, but I thought you was Ariana Grande I was finna ask for yo autograph”, I said with a straight face.

“What’s yo real name? Not yo instagram name”, I asked.

She laughed and said Samantha. We continued forward like we got out the same car, the chemistry was amazing. We get to the line, engage in small talk, and eye fuck each other in broad daylight on 21st street.

Like the true gentleman that I am, I’m like:

“Go head and order I got you”, I kid you not this bitch ordered 6 carne asada tacos. I wasn’t judging her, I was actually impressed because women usually order at most 4 tacos tryna be cute. But she was bold, she was fearless, she was hungry. So I’m thinking like damn is this bitch eating for two or is she just hella comfortable already? Again I wasn’t judging, just truly amazed at her bravery.

So I get a super steak burrito and two steak tacos. I only added the tacos to assert my dominance. I reach in my pocket for my wallet and she already got her card out paying.

She say “Nah I got it”, so in my head I’m like oh yeah you like to cater 2 niggas, ok!

I say “Right on mamas, now I gotta pay on our next date”, I’m easy as hell. We wait for our food and engage in more small talk, but if I’m being honest our body language was saying more than our mouths. We get our food, hug it out, and part ways. I left her with hints of Burberry cologne and she left me quite intrigued.

Chapter Two: The link up

Ok I’ll fast forward to the first time we fucked, which was precisely a week later. Now that I’m thinking about it, she never even got that second date I promised. We talked throughout the week, she told me she had a son and she wasn’t with the baby dad no more because he was putting his hands on her. So of course, I peeped her troubled soul. She was trying to find freedom from the verbal and physical prison inflicted by her abuser.

One night over the phone she says:

“You from Central right? You probably know my baby daddy”, in my head I’m like all of a sudden huh.

I say “Who yo baby daddy”.

She say “Stevie”.

I’m like “Stevie? He got a brother named Phillip?”

She say “Yeah you know em?”

I’m like “Not really, I seen em around”, but I knew exactly who he was. When me and Stevie was in the 3rd grade him and his 5th grade brother jumped me at school. For no reason I must add, I didn’t know them before that or too much after that either.

I don’t hold grudges, but I knew in that moment that this was the universe giving me an opportunity for revenge. That whole week, I was on Samantha bumpers. So the night in question, she hit me like wya I’m finna come get you. She pick me up with son son in the back, so I’m feeling very step fatherly.

“Wassup lil man”, I’m running out with it.

She like “Say hi fat mans”, he give me a lil dap from the carseat. She say:

“Oh he must like you cause he usually be actin funny with people”, I’m just laughing in my head cause every bitch say that.

I’m like “We goin back to yo joint?”, cause honestly I couldn’t fathom a family date.

She say “Yeah, what you got a curfew?” fiesty as hell.

I say “Nah come on”.

We blast to her joint, cool lil spot in Hercules. I get in there and I’m just thinking to myself this nice, she fake havin’. I took my shoes off at the door fasho. She instantly send lil cuz in his room to get ready for a bath. Yeah its yo bedtime homeboy. She take me to the room and tell me to get comfortable, hand me the remote all the shit. She get lil cuz together and make her way back to the room.

She instantly start changing in front of me, raw lingerie I’m like this different. She was definitely checking my temperature. I’m hot and ready. I get up and start hugging her from the back, rubbing on her tattoos and things.

She like “You tryna get me started”.

I’m like “You already got me started”, dick stabbing her in the back at this point.

We start kissing and touching and hella lil shit. We make it back to the bed and I start going crazy, I’m hitting every part of her pussy. She making sounds I ain’t never heard before, I’m like I guess white bitches just moan different. She fucking back too, like she ain’t had no dick in a cool lil minute. And I think she really didn’t because her pussy was looking like one of them pussies from the 70’s. Texture was crazy, that was the only thing throwing me off.

So after I blacked her, she goes and checks on lil bro. She comes back alone, but 5 minutes later he knocks at the room door.

“Mommy, Mommy”, he said.

I’m not even gon hold y’all, we all fell asleep in the bed together. We wake up in the morning, she takes him to school and then takes me home.

chapter three: the beat down

Another week goes by and I’ve been to her joint like 3 or 4 times. Beating that shit up every time, you hear me? I’m chilling at my joint one day and she calls. Only it’s not her. Instead I hear a nigga come on the phone. Not any nigga, it was Stevie.

“You fuck with my baby mama”, he says aggressively.

“Bro ask her, why you asking me?” I replied.

“Nigga I’m asking you cause its yo name I see in her phone”, he rebutted.

“If you in her phone you know if I fuck with her or not”, I replied back.

At that point I told Stevie I wasn’t going back and forth. And any questions he has, he can ask the bitch. We got off the phone and I remember feeling uneasy. For one, you still fuck with this nigga if he close enough to get your phone. Two, this nigga sounds very angry and given our history I can already anticipate trouble in the near future.

Everything between me and Samantha was regular. In my head, this nigga wasn’t stopping shit. Another week passes, there’s a block party in the hood. I see Stevie walking in my direction.

I go “Wassup”, tryna check his temperature and what not. He walks right past me and doesn’t say a word. So I’m like maybe he realized the error in his ways and felt a sense of embarrassment for his prior actions. No big deal, I didn’t really wanna explain to people at the block party that we arguing over his baby moms.

Im cocky at this point, it’s later and I’m perkin. I call Samantha like come get me from the block party. She pull up kid free, sweatsuit, comfortable. We go back to her joint I’m feeling good finna get some head in a comfortable bed. She turned on that Beyoncé “Drunk in Love”, feeling it. We start kissing and shit, then:

“Boom, Boom, Boom” a knock at the door. Not that friendly “I need to borrow some sugar” knock, this was aggressive and erratic.

I ask her “Who is that?”

She say “I don’t know”, as she stays seated on the bed.

“You aint gon go see?” I say as I’m looking at her with great concern. I already feel it. That knock had too much passion in it. It had to be him.

“It’s him”, she says frantically.

He’s yelling through the door “Bitch open the door! I know you here”.

I’m like “Do this nigga got a key?”, she says no.

I say “Ok cool, let him knock”.

The knocking stops after 2 or 3 minutes. She comes back to the bed. We start hearing noises from the sons room. It sounds like someone is trying to get through the window, but I’m like no way because we’re in a second level apartment. She goes to the hallway and we hear a thump. Through the cracked door I see Stevie charge and tackle her like she played for the Richmond Steelers.

“Bitch who the fuck you got in here? You lying ass bitch”, he screams as he’s on top of her. He quickly gets up and I hear him coming towards the room. I won’t lie I contemplated getting in the closet on some R. Kelly shit, but I knew I had to face the music.

He pushes the door open like the fucking Hulk and we square up. Full transparency, I wasn’t mad at all. I was actually having a good time before he came. I was perkin feeling good finna fuck hella shit. Stevie on the other hand was livid. The look in eyes was so sinister and possessed, I believe he wanted to kill me.

We began fighting and when I tell you, this nigga start beating my ass. He was for sure hella inches taller than me and like a hundred pounds heavier, but I’m not making excuses. I’m talking about bopping my ass, though. He was whooping me like Cane was whooping Chauncey ass. We started in the room and somehow ended up in the kitchen. The bitch panicking, she ain’t know what to do. Get this big ass nigga off me, that’s what you can do. So we’re in the kitchen all wrapped up and I finally say you got it.

He lets go then runs out of the joint. I grab her car keys from the counter thinking I’m finna chase him. I get outside and he slashed all 4 of her tires. We go back in the joint, both beat up. She grabs me a towel to clean myself up as she apologizes. I call a ride and leave.

The next day she says she wants to meet up. We meet up a couple blocks away from her job. We sit down and have lunch. She has a black eye and I’m all lumped up. We look crazy to be honest. She gives me $500 and tells me she’s sorry for everything. We part ways and I immediately block her on everything.

the end