Chicago

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

     Saint's worst nightmare became his reality as he posted up outside his local corner store with a pocketful of weed. He kept a low profile as he waited for his latest customer to pull up and collect his baggie. The last thing he needed was to catch the attention of other dealers, Chicago gang members or worst—the police.

Within six months, Saint was finally off of parole with nothing but positive notes on his record. Although he will forever be a convicted felon, he had the support of law officials who wanted to see him do well in life. When they looked at Saint, they saw a promising young man. Little did they know the same young man would revert back to his old ways and once again become another statistic.

Saint wasn't proud of his recent ventures but he felt like it was all he could do. Work at the auto shop was getting slow. After the incident where he got stabbed, a lot of people were afraid to come by. They thought the area was gang territory and didn't want to get caught up in the violence just for the sake of an oil change.

Saint felt horrible. He felt like he had let Crispin down. He felt like he had gotten involved with Darius for no reason. He spent so much time trying to secure a job that he lost himself and harmed others in the process. He should've just humbled himself and settled for a minimum wage until he could think of something else that could guarantee a stable life.

Not only was Saint discouraged from finding a stable job but he was also suffering a mild depression from losing his girlfriend and his best friend at the same time. Seeing her walk out on him in his biggest time of need and then learning that Skit was murdered all in the same day really took a toll on him. At that point, life became a joke to him.

"Yo?"

Saint turned his head to the faint call for his attention. He noticed his customer creeping up at the corner and quickly took the weed out his pocket. The two did a discreet exchange as the customer tucked a $20 bill into the crook of his palm as he swiped the small baggie from it. Once the trade was over, his customer walked passed him as if he never knew him. Saint's night was finished.

By selling weed, Saint was able to fulfill his needs. He was able to help Nicki and Zaine with some bills, feed himself and others if he needed to, and buy necessities such as clothes, hygiene products and shoes. It was a quick and easy way to make pocket change to make up for the money he wasn't making at the shop.

    Saint moved from the corner before the owner called the police on him for loitering. He walked across the street and down the block to his house so he could prepare for his shift at the shop in the morning. After he recovered, he was able to achieve his mechanical licenses after training with Crispin. Saint was still a rookie but he was still able to work on cars and fix the little problems.

He walked into his quiet home that was clear of any family members. It was touching midnight and everyone was supposed to be asleep for the night which was perfect since no one was able to question him about his whereabouts or recent activities. Saint rushed up the stairs and into his room to stash his leftover product in his secret area.

He closed the door behind him and locked it as he crept over to his bed and moved it to the side. The bed concealed a hole the size of a golf ball that was big enough to push small bags of weed inside. He stuffed about $500 worth of weed in this hole and it was the perfect place since no one was able to notice it without moving the bed.

Saint put away the left over product he had in his pocket and secured it for the rest of the night. He covered the hole with a shoe box before pushing his bed back into place, creating a seamless and natural scene that wouldn't attract the attention of his family.

He put that part of his life to the side for the night and prepared for a "normal" tomorrow.

        Saint walked into the shop bright and early. He entered the trailer where Crispin was every single morning. Crispin sat on his chair, sucking on a fat cigar as he flipped through the piles of bills and notices that crowded his desk. It was nostalgic since it was the same scene he saw when he first met Crispin almost a year ago.