leg·end
1. a traditional story sometimes popularly regarded as historical but unauthenticated.
2. an extremely famous or notorious person, especially in a particular field.
When you look at Marcel Young (Vince Staples) you see an average height, sli...
When you have this job [as an entertainer] you're suddenly not a person anymore. -Vince Staples
Marcel Compton, CA
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After parking in front of my grandmothers house I got out locking the doors to my BMW. I held the packet of papers my mother gave me as I went through the metal gate. I heard somebody yell my name, so I looked in that direction. It was an older woman that lived across the street. She waved so I waved back before going up the steps of the porch. I wasn't surprised to see my Dad sitting in the lawn chair smoking a cigarette. I knew he hasn't worked since he got out and just lived off of his elderly mother. Sad ass excuse for a man.
"I'm surprised you even remembered how to get to this place, sellout!"
I licked my lip letting out a short laugh throwing the packet into his lap. "That's the only reason I'm here. You needa pen to sign it?" He looked at the paper realizing it was divorce papers then looked up at me.
"You can take that shit back because I'm not signing it. Not unless ya momma gives it to me."
"She asked me to give it to you, so you will sign it. I'm not leaving here until you do." I took a pen out of the pocket on my shirt extending it to him. He just looked at it not taking it, so I grabbed his hand wrapping it around it. "There you go my friend." I sat in the seat next to him as he smacked his lips. "You think I'm playing or even Ma. Look there," I said pointing. "Already signed by her. She's done with you."
I watched as he just stared at the paper. He sucked his teeth loudly then he pushed the button on the pen. "Sign here," I said as he signed. "And here with the date," I said pointing on the next page. He signed then dated it as I grabbed it flipping it back to the front saying, "There. That wasn't that hard. Now was it?" I stood up grabbing the pen from him sliding it back into my pocket. I know my Mom told me to talk to him, but I rather not. If I stay any longer I'll end up killing his ass.
"Why don't you want your Momma to be with me so bad?"
"Is that a serious question?" I asked looking at him as if he was stupid. He tilted his head as if looking for an answer so I said, "Because you're a shitty ass husband. Y'all have been married for 30 years and you've been in jail more than half of that."
"You're always pointing out what I did wrong as if your mom was some angel. Your Momma is just as crazy as me."
"Y'all were crazy together, but you drove her that way."
"Whatever, man. You're always always trying to make it seem like you haven't ever made any mistakes or like you're just so perfect. You're married with kids now, so you'll see. Like I keep saying, you're my son. You're time will come to fuck up."
