Where Would I Be Without My Baby?

Scene 9: Where I'm From 🏠

Glorification.
Deception.
Manipulation.
Look up the meaning for all three of those words and you'd find the drug game.. niggas wanted a life that murdered their souls. Niggas prayed to be heartless to it make in the game only to get their heart busted down with an AK-47.
They only got into to feed their need for greed, fast money and the fastest life known to man. Those were also the ones who died fast, hard and bloody.
Turn on the television, pick up a book, listen to the radio.. it was a nigga without a ounce of clout capping, telling stories about a game they never would have survived.
They called their selves, savages while the real killers picked up life sentences and pulled wigs back.
Game wasn't fun no more, it had gone commercial.

He knew he should have been looking for a way out. He should been long left the game, wiped his hands and bowed out gracefully but greed was like a ugly chick with locked jaws and good pussy, somehow some way she always stayed around.
Greed consumed him in every way. He wished he truly hated it but hating something that was such a big part of who you were was like pulling the trigger on yourself.

Benjamin franklins, Grants and the lesser Jackson's kept his focus.. he'd wished a nigga would throw a Washington somewhere in sight and he wouldn't be making it home tonight. Dice was his vice of choice, rolling bones was his weed, his alcohol and in some cases it was better than pussy,

Taking niggas money was a habit and pleasure all in one. Slim was the center of attention of the block, it was pass midnight, Gaia was off tonight so she was laid up in her house by her lonesome. He left her be, no need to watch her when he knew she was staying put.

He has a couple of niggas he trusted watching her street although so no crazy shit happened. After all she was the plugs daughter and if niggas found out, baby girl would be a ditch leaking quick. Big Gee was generous King, he let all niggas eat but he was still a King. He'd cut a nigga hand off clean and tell him to stop bleeding so he did have some enemies but they were too pussy to make a move on him or the mafia.

The block should have been silent, folks should have been inside their houses with the doors locked instead they were in the courtyard of the projects that made him blasting music so loud the sound waves blasted off of the bricks.

Shit was jumping like it was the club but in your backyard. If these bricks could talk, they'd tell the story of a man who went by Slim. These were the bricks that afforded him the clothes on his back by any means necessary.

Hungry didn't do him justice back then. He was starving, malnourished did any thing for the dollar.

Them shitty bricks were his self claimed home but really he was raised up and over a couple of blocks. Slim was born Jrue Isiah Morris to a two parent household. His parents had given up all hope for a kid but at the mid way mark of their forties, he came busting out with a vengeance. He never went a day without a meal, he never had to steal to have the freshest gear, he ain't have a clue what struggle was until he was fifteen.

His father Clarence was plumber, blue collar hard working man that never let his family see him sweat. Although his dream was to have his own company, he just couldn't find the time to get it together still he was content. He was a kind husband, Slim had never heard him raise his voice at his mother.

He'd never seen them argue. His mother didn't work, she took care of him and the house. His father was the breadwinner and never complained about it or belittled his mother. When he came home, he always a a hot meal and a clean house.

They weren't rich at all but they lived good. In addition to working his 9 to 5, his father was also the neighborhood handyman. He'd help everyone out for a lower price than what someone else licensed with make them pay. Mostly he'd just have folks pay for the parts and slide him whatever they could out the kindness of his heart.