Echoes of The Block

Dashawn

March 12, 2023
California, Los Angeles
11:23 p.m.

I sat in the back of my whip, the only place I felt safe enough to count my ends. The streetlights cast eerie shadows through the windows, but I needed the darkness to keep my paranoia at bay. Every flicker, every noise, every car passing by could be someone lurking on some bullshit.

I pulled out the wad of money from my hoodie pocket and spread it out on the seat next to me. Ten-dollar bills, crumpled twenties, a few fifties. I started counting, the rhythm of it calming my nerves.

"One hundred, two hundred, three hundred..." I mumbled under my breath, my fingers moving quickly. Each bill represented a small victory, a moment where I outsmarted the system. Selling dime bags wasn't glamorous, but it paid the bills.

My mind wandered back to the alleyways, the faces of my customers, the transactions done with quick handshakes and furtive glances. I never stayed in one place too long, always moving.

As I reached a thousand dollars, my heart began to race. I was almost there. Almost enough to cover the rent, the groceries, and maybe a little extra to give to my sister. Her birthday was in a few days, and I wanna be able to get her something for her sixteenth birthday. I glanced around the car, checking the shadows for any signs of movement. My mind played tricks on me, turning harmless shapes into lurking threats.

"Fourteen hundred, fifteen hundred..." My voice trembled slightly, but I kept counting. I needed this. I needed to know I was still in control, that I could still make it in this world.

Finally, I reached the end. Eighteen hundred dollars. Not bad for a night's work. I carefully folded the bills and tucked them back into my pocket. I got back into the front seat pulling off.

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March 13, 2023
2:05 p.m.

I sat in my dimly lit apartment, hunched over a pair of Air Force 1s, meticulously scrubbing each crease with a toothbrush. The flickering TV screen played Menace II Society, my favorite movie. I always found a strange comfort in watching it, maybe because the chaos on screen made my own life seem a bit more organized.

The scene where Caine and O-Dog get into trouble at the liquor store was playing, and I couldn't help but smirk at the familiarity of it all. It was like looking into a mirror, seeing the same paranoia and distrust that followed me every day.

Just as O-Dog was about to pull another reckless stunt, my phone vibrates on the couch beside me. I glanced over, Heem name flashing on the screen. I wiped my hands on a towel, picking up the phone.

"Waddup," I said my eyes glued back on the tv screen.

"Slide through. I'm at my mother house." He responds, causing me to raise one of my brows.

"What's over thea?"

"She want us to come through, she cooked and all type of shit ." He said before hanging up the phone abruptly.

I threw on some jeans and a black T-shirt, slipped my feet into the air forces I just cleaned off, and grabbed my hoodie. My Glock was tucked safely in the waistband, hidden but within easy reach. The streets were quiet as I walked to my car. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a golden hue over the concrete jungle. I navigated through the city.