If the Projects could talk, they would have told her eons ago; that the road she had been headed down would lead to her own self destruction.
They would have warned her, in light whispers that the friends she called her own would have betrayed her;...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
birds of a feather flock together
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
___________________________________
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Zone 1, Atlanta on a Friday evening after the teens had been let out of school and the hood niggas finally decided to take a break from running the hot streets of The Bluff, was always like a packed Independence Day carnival, filled with decked out rides, grand surprises and the blaring sounds of shots emitted from pistols instead of firework machines.
The kickoff of the weekend meant that weekly basketball tournaments were in full effect. A neighborhood's bonder and hood rat's favorite and only attended sporting event. Dozens of sweaty men ran around on the grounds of Vice City's fading basketball court, tired and panting heavily with occasional roars of expletives leaving their lips.
Sweating teens, seeking girls, and unathletic males all comprised the spectating section of the weekly event, filling the chipped bleachers on the far left of the vicinity. People from every neighboring zone would ensure that on Friday night, they secured a front row seat on the infamous BLUFF bleachers.
