"Scoop back tees, breeze in coupe Smiling is your treasure, you're so well put together Bags and links, jeans and shoes Spikes and patent leathers, different fabrics mixed together
You and me, me and you Go away together, we could get away forever A...
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Cruising through the tunnel as the clock in my car read 11:23, I had mad shit running through my head. I was just happy to be getting away from the city, from all the hectic energy that New York had at almost all times. No matter where you were, whether it be in Manhattan, Long Island or the Bronx shit was almost always live. The city damn sure never slept, a fact that was undeniable.
Being from Virginia myself, I'd like to say that I was a pretty country nigga. Coming from a town that hardly had a population of 2,000 people, it was more than understandable that I wanted to get more out of life than what my tiny, sleepy town had to offer. Little Tappahannock had been home since the age of 9, the only constant place to lay my head that I had ever had up to that point. After bouncing around the country per the request of my father, I had lived in 7 states prior to finally settling down in Virginia with just my mother.
One day I'll never forget while living in South Central Los Angeles was when I was a mere 6 years old, riding around on the ragged sidewalk on the Big Wheel that my father had gifted me that birthday. I had noticed a change in my daddy, something off about him whenever he was home, which hadn't been often around that time. I noticed a change in my mother as well, but not the same change that my father had underwent. He reminded me of the zombies I watched on TV, slow and nearing death. He was completely unresponsive to when I tried speaking to him when he stumbled in the house, me sitting on the couch in the middle of the dark just waiting for him to come home. Red, bloodshot eyes were all I saw when he walked into our apartment, stumbling over his own two feet as he forced his way into my mother's locked bedroom. It became a pattern, me waiting for him to come home after getting higher than a kite and spending all the money we had to our names on crack. A posion that truly infected every corner of America, my father was in no way exempt as I saw him disintegrate into addiction being only a small child. I hardly understood it myself, but I just knew something had fucked up my father pretty bad.
That day in South LA was a beautiful one, with the bright sun making the concrete unbearably hot, but nonetheless my mother still found it in her to take me on a spin in my brand new Big Wheel. I was having as much fun as a 6 year old could have, with some of my neighborhood friends coming out of their homes to fawn over me to try and ride my Big Wheel themselves, but even then I wasn't having it. My father wasn't home, as to be expected, but when I suddenly saw his Toyota roll down the rugged street it was almost like my mother and that damn Big Wheel didn't exist. I was so happy to see my daddy, and when he pulled into the driveway sharply, hopping out with a frantic and hurry-some demeanor, both my mother and I were extremely worried.
