How many murderers do you know personally? I know 2. Here’s one……

I have a natural magnetism for certain types of people. Mostly the downtrodden. I’m not sure why God decided to give me such an arduous responsibility, but nonetheless, I’ve accepted it & use my powers for good. Sometimes I become frustrated with the amount of vagabonds & borderline homeless dudes I know, but what can I do? I feel entirely too blessed not to share what God gave me with others, if I’m able to. It even talks about something like that in the Bible, word to Jesus Christ.

My young home boy, named *no dry-snitch* was a good kid who, unfortunately, had his eyes widened by the daily antics of the neighborhood supervillians. The gang-banging, dope-dealing, petty criminal activity that we all love to watch on a straight-to-video DVD or hear chronicled in a rap record. Shit is real in this field. He was a boy in a man’s body, who would spend half of his day following around my friends & I, like an annoying sibling or stray dog, & the other half around the corner with the local, OG ruffians. Seems like that balance would work out in his favor if ever an extreme situation arose, but he (& I) found out that in a matter of 5 minutes, everything you’ve learned/adopted/believed in can be forgotten & forever lost.

If you know about Los Angeles, you know that every third person has a relative in Pomona, Victorville, The Valley, Ontario, Perris, etc. Those places just happen to be the “get my ass out of L.A.” hotbeds. So, *no dry-snitch* had close family in The Valley, who he’d visit often. So much so that he’d met a girl out there. He was still young, so when he came home one day, talking fast & smiling, I knew he had genuine feelings for her, as opposed to good ol’ Black lust. Lust, as in, he’d already had a daughter who he never saw, through no fault of his own, so to me, he saw this as a chance to do the whole relationship thing correctly.

From the day I’d meet him, he’d gone from decent, clean cut youth, to a misdemeanor-commiting menace to society. Complete with too much hair & gang tattoos. He came to me for advice a lot, which I rationed out to him, depending on how much weed he had, but the one real situation he needed guidance on, he turned to the supervillians. It seemed that the valley girl already had a boyfriend. & in most instances, “out-of-town” niggas detest L.A. dudes. Of course, he was no exception. The fact that he was affiliated with the Eight Trey Gangsta Crip’s made him an easier target for the boondocks thug-wanna be’s. & now, he’d coveted on of their prized hood rats. Some random nigga lost his future baby momma, & surely looked to avenge his loss.The day came when the two young, Black males crossed paths, on the valley hooligan’s home turf. Home court advantage, per se. But *no dry-snitch* wasn’t a punk by any means & he held his ground. The two fought, & after what I can only assume was an ass-kicking, the valley boy ran away threatening further violence, in the way that only Black kids from the ghetto(s) can; he’s “be back with the strap.” Again, my young compadre wasn’t afraid of much, so this to him, was no more than another nigga barking as he scurried away with tail tucked.

This wasn’t his first foray into the ignorance of girls & gang rivalry. In Juvenile Hall, he’d gotten into a squabble behind some tender chick filet, & stabbed a fellow “inmate” in the thigh with a pencil. No stiches, no harm, no foul. As with most incarcerated young boys, this only fueled his bloodlust towards the next opportunity to flex his masculinity. Funny how you forget about the first domino until they all fall down…

So, 5 minutes later, valley dude returned, this time in a car. He stopped the car & exited. *no dry-snitch* said that he didn’t seem to have a gun, but he wasn’t looking for one, what with all the adrenaline surging through him. Valley guy walked over & began talking loudly, while the prized chickenhead began to back away. *no dry-snitch* decided that he was going to swing first, connected with valley cat’s jaw & knocked him to he ground. Immediately, he jumped back up & produced a handgun aimed right for *no dry-snitch*’s chest.

To be continued tomorrow…