Miami, Florida
Sydney POVMo' money, mo' problems,
Mo' guns, mo violence...
I beat a couple cases,
I feel like John Gotti...I rapped along to Married to the Game. I was smoking a blunt and counting money with my machine. One of my phones started ringing. After finding the one that was ringing, I answered it.
"Yo, wassup?" I asked, unloading the machine.
"Wah' gwan? Yuh still nah leave ya house?" Priscilla's asked through the phone.
"Nah, I just finished counting the last of the money. Why? Wassup?" I told her banding up the stack.
"Melan just ring mi, she seh it's a bloodclat code red. Mi nah know what gwan down but come outside, mi ah pull up now!" She said hanging up.
Putting the last stack in the safe, I grabbed my phones and 2 guns. My 22 and 45. I put one in my shoe and the other on my waist. Running to the front door, I grabbed my BAPE jacket, hat, and my goyard bag before heading out.
Just as I was locking the door, Priscilla pulled up in her Porsche. As soon as I got in, she handed me the Grabba Leaf and weed.
"You talked to Eden and Nina?" I asked her breaking down the weed. She shook her head.
"Mi a call Nina, she nah answer. Eden already with Melan, she want us to meet dem inna da trap in west Miami." She said getting on the turnpike.
"Knowing her, she somewhere hunchin'." I said licking the leaf down and lighting the blunt. I called Nina and she didn't answer. I shrugged my shoulders and turned the radio up a little bit.
"Mi nah pressure nobody daughter, it's alright it's okay, yuh can leave if yuh wan leave." Priscilla and I sung along to Alkaline.
YOU ARE READING
Paparazzi
General FictionSydney and her crew are the youngest drug dealers in Miami, and they are all about money. When one of her right hands, Nina, gets killed.. What happens then? Will they find who did it or die trying? See how they run streets of South Florida in t...