After a seven-year bid in a juvenile detention center, Snowden Anderson found it hard matriculating back into the busy streets of L.A. without getting caught up in its rising crime filled with drugs, gang-rivalry, and nightly shoot-outs.
In an atte...
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THREE: CHECKED « take my drink nigga I'm buzzin; take my trees nigga I'm gone; take my keys nigga it's nothing 'cuz one of these chicks taking me home »
The butterfly door of Michael's cherry red aventadoor lifted with the soft press of the button underneath the cuff of the car handle. He eased in, started her up, his phone syncing to the Bluetooth, continuing with the last song that was playing from when he was last connected to the Bluetooth in his tattoo shop.
Pop Smoke's What You Know Bout Love blasted through his speakers as he cracked his windows. The city's weather was unpredictable and even in the winter months there were bound to be a couple of relatively "warm" days and one of those days was today.
He rapped along, swerving between the lanes of the busy streets as he pushed to get his destination. "All I need is your trust, and girl I told you once, don't make me tell you twice. I know you see this print through my pants that I know you like, and yo ass be lookin' so fat when it be in them tights; and I'm going straight to the top, so hope you ain't afraid of heights."
Ten minutes later he was pulling up to the apartment complexes on the East end of the city that had gained its rep as another set of projects. It was the heart of the east side and his old stomping grounds. It was where he grew up, experiencing all of his firsts and his lasts.
Michael had nothing against the projects, but not everyone was loyal anymore and he didn't want to put himself in a position to be an open target, so after he'd become an ex-member of the East-Lofton gang he made a silent move across the city that only he knew of.
His sister didn't even know where he laid his head at night and it wasn't because he didn't trust her, but Michael knew of the enemies he still had even with being an ex-gang member. He didn't need anyone pushing up on his family in an effort to get close to him, so he kept his whereabouts on a tight leash.
The only time you knew he was around wasn't until you were standing in the same space as him. Any other time he was a distant thought, a lot of people on the streets sometimes wondering if he still existed when he went weeks without being seen.
He opened the car door, grabbing the .45 he kept in his glovebox, checking to make sure it was fully loaded and checking that the safety was completely on.
Nothing was suspected to pop off, but if he was already ready then that meant he didn't have to get ready.
Grabbing the GameStop bag of new games for his nephew Michael got out of the car, tucking his gun in the back waist of his pants and pulled his hoodie down over it.
His sister, Maritza, had given him a key to her place when she first moved in, so he used that to unlock her front door, walking in on her holding her cellphone between her neck and ear as she talked to someone on the phone while braiding her client's hair.
