A spin-off to Ramona Park Legend. This will overlap that story. To better understand this story it is suggested that you read the original story.
cut.throat
1. a murderer or other violent criminal.
2. fierce and intense; involving the use of ruthles...
Can't let none of the bullshit phase me. -Joey Fatts
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• Got Your Back •
2015
Dyamond Los Angeles, CA.
I laid on the little bed looking up at the ceiling staring directly into the light. I let the sound of the loud buzzing of the tattoo machine fill my ears. It's been a long week, but Yams is officially buried. That made everything real. I knew that wasn't the end of an uneasy weekend because I still have to go back to Oakland today. Hopefully I can just get in and out.
I closed my eyes laying my head to the side. As I felt the needle on my skin as it penetrated my waist. The best pain I've ever felt. Anytime I had the urge to cut, I went and got a tattoo instead. "All done," I heard the tattoo artist say.
Opening my eyes I said, "Really?" Saying mhm with a hum to answer my question I sat up straight.
"Check it out," he said as I swung my legs over. I planted them on the ground walking over to the full length mirror staring at my new tattoo.
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If Yams wasn't already going to live forever for all he's done, he will now on my skin. "You like it?" My tattoo artist shouted from behind me breaking my concentration.
"I love it," I said faintly staring at it one more time. I went back over to him so he could wrap it. Pulling my shirt down I walked to the other room looking for Joey who's also getting a tattoo. As I walk I look down at my phone seeing Fresh texting me. He's asking me where I'm at and I know it's because we're supposed to be making the trip to Oakland later. If I had it my way I would turn my phone off and spend all day with Joey just not to go. You know when you have a bad feeling in the pit of your stomach? It's either not go and just buy a whole new wardrobe or go and get my shit before he throws it onto the street corner or burns it.
Making my way into the other room I peek in then ask, "You almost done?"
"He is now," his tattoo artist says as he wipes his hand.
