HAM (Hard As a Muthaf**ka)

Homecoming (Welcome Back)

Homecoming(Welcome Back)

                 “JACOBY MARTIN!”

                 I walked to the gate, escorted by the guard. I had already had my court hearing on Monday, and basically after sittin my Black ass down at Rice Street for almost a month, they were letting me go. Them bastards were trynna hold me longer but they couldn’t find the shit, so they couldn’t make the “possession of narcotics” charge stick…but them fuckers still held me, tryin to find some shit. I mutha fuckin hate APD, them corrupt bastards.

                I signed off on my possessions- sixty dollars, my wallet, my cellphone, my chap stick, and my A-Town fitted. I grabbed the bag, and walked out the electric doors as the buzzer sounded. The lady guard handed me a sheet of paper. “You got an appointment with your probation officer, next week,”

                “Probation? Man, what the fuck?” I yelled out.

                “They couldn’t charge you, with possession of narcotics, but that nickel bag of weed they got off you…you gotta check in with probation. If you don’t show, they put a warrant out for you,”

                “This is some bullshit,” I groaned. “I aint gotta pay nothing, right?”

                “Hells yeah…a $30 dollar probation fee,” she answered. I rolled my eyes…the system is something else, forreal- designed to fuck a poor nigga over. They couldn’t get me for the big shit, so they were gonna nickel and dime me on this little fuckin bag of weed. They might as well have kept my Black ass in jail an extra week, over that shit. I walked to the down the path, until I got to Rice Street. I aint even have exact change to catch the bus, so I put on my cap and walked. I really didn’t wanna put on the hat, cause it was all beat up and dirty, from when the Po-pos roughed me up, but my hair had grown, and I couldn’t even comb it. First thing on the list after a nigga get a bath and some real food- get my Black ass, a haircut.

                 I finally made it over to a Church’s chicken, and walked inside. I got a 4-piece chicken tenders meal, wit some fries, two honey butter biscuits, and a Strawberry Fanta. I sat back, eatin it up, as I noticed some other folks comin in. That’s when I saw my boy Kantrell stepped in…he looked to me. “Damn J, is that you, nigga? When you get out?”

                 I stood up as I gave my nigga daps, and a bruh hug. He stepped back, waving his hand. “Whoo nigga, you smell a lil rank,”

                 “I know. I just got out today, nigga. You can gimme a ride to my spot?” I asked.

                 “Yeah. Lemme get this chicken first. You comin over to my place afterwards?”

                 “I gotta see…you know I gotta check in with moms, and make sure Max is doin okay,” I said. “I may even take me a nap…get back in my own bed, and get some serious sleep,”

                 “I feel ya. Let me know when you comin my way. I got that dro foe ya,” said Kantrell. I sat back in my seat, to finish off my meal, as he ordered his food. Kantrell walked over to me, with his bag in his hand. “You ready?”

                 I put down my napkin, and grabbed my soda. We walked to his car- a 1981 Chevy Monte Carlo. Kantrell hadn’t painted it yet- it was burgundy with rust on it, and the roof was a dingy ragtop, but the engine on that bitch was boss, and he had it sittin on some 22’s with Akuza Black Ice rims. The interior was clean was hell- he had that shit reupholstered, and had the inside of the doors redone. He had the stereo system upgraded, where he could put in his CD’s and hook up an iPod. I stepped back, admiring the beauty. “This shit is hella tight! I was supposed to been buyin me a ride before I got locked up,”