Fall 1993 Jersey city, New Jersey Scenario: walking up the block.. This one is for my girly nostalgiahottie ♡. You know imma get you right sista!
"It was his gleam that bought me back, legit! "-Queen Pen
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Yup this one is featuring her man Apache Mr. Gansgta bitch himself and this is a 2 part just for my bestie!
Shaunie's Pov The air, thick with the acrid tang of burnt toast and the lingering despair of yesterday, clung to me as I dragged myself down the chipped concrete steps.
"Yo, can you come on mommy said we gotta be back inna hour for "school"?" my voice rasped, already hoarse from mornings spent hollering into the indifferent abyss. Reaching the stoop, my gaze darted across the street, every parked car, every shadow, a potential threat. My fingers instinctively brushed the reassuring weight of the "strap" tucked in the small of my back. A practiced flick of the wrist, and it was hidden again, the cool metal a dull ache against my skin. Instead, I fished out my trusty Walkman, its worn plastic a familiar comfort in my hand. With a satisfying click, I cranked the volume, the opening riff of Dr. Dre's "The Chronic" flooding my ears, a sonic shield against the cacophony of the hood
"It's like this, that, and thi- damn nigga can you watch where you walking..." My focus died in my throat as I slammed into a solid wall of muscle Groaning, I looked up, bracing for a fight. But the scowl I expected melted away as I stared into the surprised eyes of Anthony Peaks. Everyone called him Apache, but that right there had been my man since first grade, even if he didn't know it
Apache wasn't like the other guys. Sure, he had that air of danger about him, the kind that kept most girls at arm's length. He walked with a crew, a confident swagger in his step, his clothes always ironed crisp, even if they were a couple of seasons old. But beneath the tough exterior, I saw glimpses of the boy who used to share his peanut butter sandwiches with me when mine got lost in the lunchroom shuffle.
His hair was a constant source of fascination. It wasn't the perfectly styled kind you saw in magazines. His was a wild mane of short black curls, defying gravity in a way that mirrored the unpredictable rhythm of his life. And his smile, when it did appear, could light up a whole city block. It was a rare treasure, a fleeting glimpse of a warmth that usually hid behind a guarded expression.
Maybe it was the way he carried himself, a quiet strength that commanded respect on the street. Maybe it was the way he looked out for the younger kids, the ones who needed a little extra muscle to avoid trouble. There was a complexity to Apache that drew me in. He was a walking contradiction – a dangerous rebel with a kind heart, a streetwise dude with a hidden vulnerability.
In a world that felt chaotic and unpredictable, Apache was a constant. He was the familiar face in the crowd, the one person who knew the streets as well as I did. He was the thrill of the forbidden, the forbidden fruit that whispered promises of excitement and a life beyond the stoop. He was everything I wasn't – fearless, confident, a protector. He was, in my eyes, everything.
