Courting The Champion

1

Andrew

I wake up with a sharp, throbbing pain in my neck. I just can never git  the right pillow. I groan loudly as I reluctantly and lazily lift my beat up body up, into a seated position. It's still dark out. I stretch my toned but bruised arm to the bedside table, reaching for the three year old lamp I gat  at a garage sale for about pretty much zero cost because I'm close to the nigga. The room brightens up just at the one lamp I own in my small dingy apartment rental.

I ain't never really ever needed all that extra stuff since I just make do with whatever little that I gat. I taught myself err'thang  I know and I most definitely worked hard to git   where I am right now, even though it really ain't that far. Living here beats living in somebody else' crib no doubt.

I can't really complain 'bout none of that though. Every black man there is can agree with me when I say that if there's any bloody thang'   that has got the ability to toughen up a man's bones and eventually lead him to his success, it's struggle. It's the only way and fortunately for me, there ain't no other way 'round it. You gotta live the streets to beat the streets nigga!

I git  up off the bed and on my feet. The first thing I see is a black bra that shorty left on the floor last night. I can't remember her name. She lives in the same run down apartment building as me, but on one of the higher floors. 

She's a head shorter than me, which makes her taller than the average girl. She also gat this gorgeous dark skin you just won't resist. She's an extrovert. I like her scent but the perfume is just a bit too sweet, she better off without it. She's also a beginner in real estate and I don't understand why she'd hang around a nigga like me. I'm trouble.

Maybe it's my eyes or my tattoos that she likes so much. Girls go crazy over that typa shit. I inherited my dearest granny's gorgeous green eyes and her light skin tone. I've got tattoo sleeves with all kinds of shit on there. I can't even remember some of it.

I like to keep my hair short and faded. And my build nice and slim. I go hard in the gym and I eat too— but when you're in a fight, you don't need all that muscle. Shit will slow you down. 

I recently just got this apartment. It's small, barely furnished but it beats sleeping in the basement with all that moldy smell in there. I been getting more than enough cash to get me by. And the crowd git bigger and bigger every weekend. This shit goin' somewhere. I went from two hundred followers to ten thousand on my gram. Shit getting real. But I'mma take every opportunity to seize the moment. If they offer me a ring, then I'll git in the ring and fight even harder. I ain't goin' back to living in them rough neighborhoods.

I put on my black hoodie and sweat shorts. I don't wear shirts during fights. I like to show the tattoos on my chest when I fight. And the hoodie prolly sound extra but you gotta have an image to git far nigga. I'm the new Rocky.

I walk to the outskirts of New York city. It's midnight and it look like it's still day. There's people everywhere in the streets and the alleys. There's no law enforcement on this side, they ain't hear 'bout us yet. Even if they do, we just gon' move some place else.

In the middle of the circle, admist the crowd. Two big guys are throwing fists. The shorter one moves fast but he ain't got balance, just to say his footwork is shit. He wouldn't last five seconds with me in the circle. I'm a force. The crowd chanting all typa shit.

"Git 'im!"
"Fuck him up."
"Finish him."

I stay hidden in the shadows, there's girls everywhere. If they see me they finna go crazy. I ain't in the mood for some shit. I'm here to work and git paid.

When the short nigga loses and eats concrete, Dred Carl gets in the middle to hype up the crowd. He a thirty some' man who look like Mike Epps with 'em shiny ass teeth. He prolly brush his teeth every five minutes and shit. Or he never smoke a day in his life.

Oh and he always smilin' and in a good mood.

“I know y'all seen that shit! Give it up for Warren with them killer moves. You went in for the kill nigga!”

"Yes!"
"Next fight nigga"
"Get to the shit already!"

Today there's more cars than ever. Some pimped out rides and some slick rides. Must be some important niggas or some'. This place has its rules. We don't take no shit. Ain't no gun, ain't no knife. We here to escape from that shit.

My turn soon comes. I'm going against some nigga named Johnny Badass. I ain't seen nigga before but he look like an experienced fighter. He a little cocky which makes me dislike him. What a bitch.

"Ready... Fight!"

I do a little shuffle and bounce as Johnny advances. He tries to scare me off with his eyes, but I ain't no Rookie. I know my shit. I dodge the first hit and counter with a left swing which he easily blocks. We switch sides keeping it moving.

"Fuck him up nigga!"

He attacks with a triple. Hook. Hook. Jab. I dodge the first two but blocking them leaves my chest open. I cough from the impact of his fist against my chest. Shit.

I recover quickly and do a spin around him, kick him round his knees and swing on the side of his abdomen. He stumbles a little, taken aback from the power in the blow and while he recovers, I send another hard jab on his cheek which brings him plummeting to the ground.

I won.