Cocaine Ain't For Me, But I Love The Smell 64u5b

ISBN: 9780986448645

Chapter 1 “COCAINE AIN’T FOR ME”

Cocaine ain’t for me, but I love the smell…You will hear me saying that phrase over and over again. When I say that phrase people usually ask me what it smells like, and with a short and sweet reply, I normally say it smells like money. I say that because I know that’s what people expect me to say. But it is much more than money to me; that sounds crazy but for me it is true. When I’m at a table drinking whiskey and bagging up three to four ounces of blow into one-gram baggies I’m not really thinking of how much money this shit is going to make me. I’m thinking of what adventures this shit is going to take me on. What crazy parties will I end up at, what inner circles I will be invited into, what random woman I will be fucking by the end of the night?

It’s been many nights when me and, let’s say, six to eight people bum-rush a club bathroom and turn it into a VIP area. People banging at the door trying to get in screaming they have to piss, some of the sexiest women in the club in the bathroom with us, and I’m shoving blow up their nose. I’m having so much fun so I don’t give a fuck, plus normally, it’s some random dudes buying the entire amount of blow their cash will allow, just to keep the partying going with these random women with the thought of them fucking these chicks by the end of the night. I make sure I don’t leave until the women have my number, the men not so much because I know the women will be better customers because they will always have some suckers buying them blow.

You learn a couple things in this lifestyle when you pay attention, number one: all money isn’t good money and number two: some people just are not worth the headache. Number three is my favorite: never stay in one place for too long. You have to master the art of always knowing when to leave, being able to move amongst a group of people and not draw any attention to yourself. I think all those things helped me to be great at what I was doing. I would walk into a bar or a club and study people’s behavior: their body language, who they were talking to, and how many times they went to the bathroom. I could see the same

people three or four times that week in the same bar and wouldn’t make any with them. I would sit at the bar and have me a couple of whiskeys or a couple of cheap beers and study my prey.

Who were my prey? Anyone and everyone who could possibly be customers, not just any customers, but the right customer’s, the ones with the right connections. Most people are so predictable and routine it’s nothing for me to get to them. I would make eye with some people a couple of times before I mindfucked them. If I knew a certain woman or dude was doing blow and who I thought would be a good customer for me, I would slide them a bag of blow. I would always bag up like five, twenty sacks when I was out scouting for new customers. After I made eye with them a couple of times I would walk up to them as I’m planning to leave the club and shake their hand with a sack of blow in my hand…I would smile and tell them to have a good night. They would feel what’s in their hand and I would tell ‘em, “it’s on me, enjoy the party.” Eight out of ten times this worked. When I saw them the next time I would act like I didn’t even know their ass, but I knew I had me a new customer because most of the blow on the club scene is shit. It’s a bunch of fake-ass dealers who step on their blow a bunch of times just to try to make a couple extra dollars. Mostly they’re some cats that work in the industry as bartenders, servers, or just some random dude that’s in denial about his cocaine habit. Fucking up the game, snorting up half their product, and selling the other half just trying to break even.

I provided more of a customer service, and I fancied the “give before you take” method. Most people are so busy trying to rip everyone off, or trying to make the most money possible, they forget to take care of the customer. Once my customers got in really good with me they didn’t want to go to any other dealer even if my shit was more expensive, because they knew I wasn’t on any bullshit and I had the best quality out there. Plus, I was always good to them: if I saw them out, I would buy them, and whoever they were with, a round of drinks, I may even throw them a party pack of blow just for the hell of it. I just chalked it up as the cost of doing business. And my business was fucking booming, I was like a party promoter; I was out five days a week: Monday nights, Halo; and Tuesday nights, Clermont lounge; Wednesday night, MJQ and Star Bar; Thursday nights, Jacks Pizza, El Bar, and then bar hop at the clubs in the

Midtown area of Atlanta. Friday night, I would head back to MJQ. That’s not even including the customers I had at local strip clubs that would call all times of the night when they needed my services. My white-collar business clients I would meet them just about every Friday around lunch time at some random restaurant where they and their coworkers would go for lunch. They would text and tell me what bar to meet at, and I would normally get there before them, I would sit at the bar and maybe have something to eat or a beer. They would text me beforehand and tell me what they wanted, normally, three to four 8 balls. I only dealt with two guys in this particular group who used to buy blow for a couple people in their office. I would see one of the two guys go to the bathroom and I would follow right behind him and make sure the stalls were clear and we’d make our exchange. They would even buy me lunch for my inconvenience of even having to come to the damn bar in the first place. Their friends don’t know me, and I don’t know their friends. Both parties are happy.

My gay clientele who never seemed to sleep or stop fucking partying ever, would call or come by at any given time. Also, I was on standby for them 24hours because they had all the connections. Some of them were make-up artists and did make up for a lot of the celebrities in Atlanta; a couple of them were hair stylists as well. I had a few that were straight up scam artists, doing everything from credit card fraud to boosting high-end merchandise right out of Lenox mall. And last but not least, my fucking neighbors who, without them, none of this would be possible, nor do I think my business would have grown the way it did without them. I can honestly say, for some of them I was their favorite nigga. I could tell some of my neighbors and clients never had to interact with black people in a social setting. Maybe they had a couple of black coworkers, or that one black friend that has no clue that he or she is really black. I don’t think they had ever experienced a diverse strong black man like me before. Physically, I embodied all of the traits that the media teaches white America to fear. A black man with a whole body full of tattoo’s walking a pit bull is very intimidating to some people apparently. I had one of my white neighbors tell me, after he got to know me that he thought I was a thug or a gangster-rapper when he first saw me in the courtyard walking my pitbull Lola. I have no clue why white people think that all black guys with a gang of tattoos are rappers. Maybe he thought me being a rapper is the only way I could afford to live in the same neighborhood as him. I must say moving to a predominantly white area/neighborhood opened my eyes to how little white people know about black people and our culture. I found

out that they only know and believe what they hear and see on the news. So, if the news media portrays us in a negative light to people who never, or rarely ever, encountered black people, then, when they meet a black person they are going to be scared as hell that you are going to rob them or your pitbull is going to attack them. Ignorance is truly the parent of fear. A lot of times when I encountered some of these white people I felt like it was my duty to tear down a lot of the stereotypes they had for black people. Do you know how offensive it is when a muthafucka compliments you on the fact that you speak correct English? Like, why did you assume I couldn’t speak correct English? What were you basing that on? Most of the white guys I came in with were pretty cool and some were assholes; they were so ignorant I just felt bad for them. My neighbor, Christian, is a prime example. He would say some of the most ignorant and inappropriate shit and not think twice about it. He just didn’t know any better. Overall, most of my neighbors were good genuine people though.

I honestly don’t think I had one regular blue collar-working neighbor as a customer. Hell, I think I was one of the few regular blue collar working people that lived in the building. All my customers who were my neighbors were either white-collar workers, in a band, a model, stripper, or entrepreneur, etc. My neighbor’s friends were just like them so they made even better clients because I didn’t have to see them everyday. You should have seen the Friday and Saturday nights at our building. We would party like the whole place was a frat house. I would be bouncing from five to six different lofts serving different factions some of the purest cocaine Atlanta had to offer. Their buddies who didn’t stay there would just tell their wives or ole ladies, “Hey, babe, I’m going to see my buddy, Jason”, but their women didn’t know that Jason’s place was the meet-up place so they could get their drugs and just party and bullshit with the fellas. And this would be the same story from all the different lofts I would visit. These fuckers knew how to party, though. If they stayed close by, they would just catch a cab over and party all weekend, or till it was time to go home, and the people who stayed far away would do the same thing. They would just get to their friend’s house, chip in on how much blow and booze they wanted to do for the weekend, and just party their asses off. Then take their asses back home on Sunday night and relive their boring-ass lives. In true “Weekend Warrior” fashion I’m sure when they got to work on Monday their only thoughts were what they were going to do for the weekend. These white people had life figured out. When you have money and a great career, why risk fucking that up with a DUI?

So everyone would just catch a cab over to the complex. This was smart because, if you catch a cab, you have no worries of being fucked with by the police. They didn’t have any drama amongst them and their friends. They just wanted to party, enjoy life, and get fucked up, and I helped them with that as much as I could. Truth be told, they were helping me enjoy life as well …

I grew up no stranger to drugs; it was all in my neighborhood and, at times, in my house. I saw firsthand how drugs could destroy a person, a family, or even a community. So, as a child, I said I would never get involved with drugs. I saw my mother dabble around with drugs, and I would act like I didn’t know what was going on. To me, it was just a part of life. Hell, to this day, my father still does drugs, he just can’t seem to let that shit go. A lot of people view weed as a drug, but I never have, nor will I ever see it as one. I was always very mature for my age, a very old soul. I think it comes from just being around older people my entire life. My Grandparents raised me mostly and instilled a lot of my core morals and values. I was taught to be a gentleman, and to be very respectful, work hard, and stay out of trouble. I managed to stay out of trouble, well, for the most part, that is. I also managed to stay with a hustle; the ability to earn is truly a talent. My grandfather was all about making a dollar; he was the ultimate hustler, but in the legal way.

My grandfather, Mr. J.C. Cole, was blind and had more hustle in him than guys with 20/20 vision. My grandfather was diagnosed with glaucoma before I was born and, eventually, he lost his sight. As a kid it did something to me to see a man without sight get up every day, hustle and grind. He was such a good mechanic that, even when he lost his vision, he never stopped fixing cars. He was so good at the shit, he could do it with his eyes closed. I was so amazed by that. Granddaddy JC had a tire shop; people would come by to get a tire patched up or to buy a used tire from him. He would do all of this without being able to see. He would always tell me he couldn’t go to bed broke. He said if he was broke he couldn’t sleep. He would say “only a man who isn’t any count could go to sleep broke.” He said a man’s goal everyday should be to go back home with more money than he left with at the beginning of the day. He was always on the up and up, straight and narrow. A very hardworking, blue-collar, man’s man type of guy. He would tell me how he wanted to work so bad when he was younger to

help his mother Bama Cole that he lied about his age so he could start working in the coal mines. He had to tell them that he was two to three years older than what he was just to get a job. I learned a lot from my grandfather. He said, even though he had a good job, he always kept him a hustle on the side. He told me time after time how important it was to keep a job to have some steady income, and how a job would keep me out of trouble. My grandfather had enough land, and enough things going on to keep me out of a whole lot of trouble. About five miles from our family home, my grandfather owned about thirty acres that we called “The Field” and The Field is where I earned my keep. I cut grass, and I mean a lot of grass, collected cans and went with my grandfather to take old cars to the scrap yard to get extra money. This was all routine. I was doing all of this before I could barely push a lawnmower.

I being about nine years old and I asked my grandfather if I could have some money to go to the store. He told me to go out into the garage and get all the money I could get out of there. I went back in the house and told him I didn’t see any money out there. He said, “Sure you did; didn’t you see all those lawnmowers, weed eaters, and cans of gas out there?” I said, “yes sir, I seen them.” He said, “Well, there you go, use those to go make all the money you can.” He said, “If you have all the tools you need to make money, then you will never have to ask another man for nothing, because you can make your own money.” Even at that young age that made a lot of sense to me. He didn’t talk to me like I was a child. He talked to me as if I was one of his buddies. We were really best friends. If I was out of pocket, or acting unbecoming, he would pull me to the side and check me like men should talk to each other, man to man.

By the time I was ten years old I had a couple lawnmowers and gathered a couple of friends from the neighborhood that wanted to make some money. All I did was cut grass on weekends and after school. I was making ten to thirty dollars a yard, and that’s a bunch of money when you are ten years old. My grandfather had really instilled in me to be a hustler and to utilize my resources to make a better life for myself and I hated asking my mom for money cause I knew she didn’t have it, so that was even more of a reason I stayed with a hustle.

By the time I made it to middle school I used to go to the store, buy candy, and sell it to my classmates. Simple supply and demand. Kids love candy—Snickers, Butterfingers and Kit Kats—that was a sweet hustle and it got even sweeter when some of the kids I rode the bus with started stealing the candy from the Winn-Dixie and selling it to me for way cheaper.

When I got to the 9th grade my hustle kicked into high gear. I’ve always had the ability to be in the right place at the right time to meet the right people. I used to catch the train to and from school, and that walk to and from the East Point train station to Tri-Cities High School everyday became my education in Marijuana. It was the fall of ’93, and all you could hear was OutKast “Players Ball” or 8Ball & MJG “Comin Out Hard.” An upper classman and full-time hustler who caught the train with me took a liking to me and schooled me on his weed hustle. Everyday he would tell me things like how much it cost, how much it should weigh and what good and bad weed looks like. He said he would front me an ounce of weed if I wanted to get on, because I told him, shit; I needed to make some money, too. I never did let him front me any weed. All the game he was giving me, I would take it right back to College Park, off of Welcome All Road where I stayed at the time in these apartments with my mom. My close friend, JB, was in the same boat as me. A single mom who didn’t have much money either was raising him. His mom had a bad drug habit. I would tell JB everything I would learn on my walk to and from school, and he was like, fuck it man, as soon as both of us get some money, we need to go half on an ounce. That’s what we did. I had gotten fifty bucks from my grandmother for my birthday, and JB got fifty from somewhere, and we went half on that ounce of weed. I later found out that the person we got it from taxed us an extra twenty dollars, so we overpaid by twenty bucks that first go-round, but that’s the stuff you learn as you go in the game. We got that ounce, and some baggies, and we bagged a whole ounce into nickel bag sacks, seeds and all. It’s funny to me now.

Looking back on it, we were about that money, and we didn’t have a clue what we were doing. I came up with a marketing strategy, since we were going to be selling at school, JB went to Westlake, so we weren’t going to be selling to the same people. I told JB that, since a lot of people were selling at school we need to give away free cigars with every sack that they buy from us because no one

could leave campus to get a cigar. JB thought that was a good idea as well; we got one of the homies that was eighteen to go to the corner store to buy us a box of 50 White Owl cigars. Man when I got back to school that Monday and put out the word it started to spread like wildfire and the free cigar with every sack was genius. I started to sell so much it was crazy sometimes I would take whatever JB couldn’t sell and just sell it for him because I had so many willing buyers. I was in the 9th grade and guys from the 10th, 11th, and 12th grade were looking for me before and after school, in the lunchroom and between classes. I became so popular that some of the older guys wanted to sell my weed for me for free just so they could seem cool to girls in the school. I didn’t care ‘cause they didn’t want any money; they would bring all the money back to me, and I would just throw them something for the hell of it. After awhile there were like 3 or 4 people selling weed for me. In my neighborhood the older guys that were hustling really started respecting me, and I started selling weed to one of the biggest dope boys in College Park. He would just come through my apartment complex looking for me, because I had the best weed.

His brother Jamal was a friend of mine, and stayed in the same apartment complex as I did. Jamal sold crack, I sold weed, some of my peers our age robbed and jacked niggaz for extra money. We were kids, just 14, 15, and 16 years old, but we were like little warriors trying to be men and put some money in our pockets. Atlanta was wild in the early nineties. 1992, 1993 and 1994 were all wild years for me. It used to get even crazier when FreakNik would come to town. I sitting in the trap one night during the time of FreakNik, and the robbing crew caught us slipping, and laid all of us down. Two box Chevy Caprices came in and drove to the back of the complex. They turned around headed back in our direction. When they came closer to us one guy jumped out of one of the cars with a pistol grip pump. Another guy jumped out of the other car with some sort of rifle. One of our homeboys had seen the cars coming down the hill and yelled “robbing crew” and took off running. We thought he was bullshitting so we didn’t move. When I heard them cock their guns and told us to lay it down I knew they weren’t bullshitting. One of the guys yelled, “Lay it down, you already know what it is.” “Fuck nigga, I said, lay it down.” Yea, we knew what it was, so we just got face down on the ground. I was too dumb at the time to be scared, so I just lay there with guns pointed at us on the ground. All I could see was a couple of guys in Air Jordan sneakers and Hi-Tek boots. They took whatever we had and got the hell on. That’s the type of shit you are

subjected to when you are hustling or chilling in the trap. If you are not familiar with our Atlanta slang a “TRAP” is anywhere you are hustling, or engaging in some sort of illegal activity where, at any time, you risk the chances of going to jail. It’s rough in the trap because you have to watch out for the robbing crews and the police. That was my last time being robbed. I learned a valuable lesson that night and that was, to never stay in one place for too long. I had what I know now to be a gut feeling that I should have taken my ass in the house a little earlier. I ignored that gut feeling and got caught up in some bullshit.

Chapter 2 “SMALL TOWN, BIG TROUBLE”

My reign as weed kingpin didn’t last long. The last day before Christmas break one of the guys who were selling for me met me in front of the school as usual to give me the money, or give back the weed he didn’t sell. He was in such of a hurry he dropped a bag of weed in front of a teacher. Long story short the teacher checks my pockets and finds a bunch of money and cigars so he put the weed on me. I had the school police take me to the office where he didn’t take me to jail, but he did something a little worse, he called my mom. So my stepfather had to come get me and, for the next week I had to hear my mom talking shit about me having weed and being a drug dealer; some shit I just didn’t want to hear. So I called my father who was staying in a little town called Pascagoula, which is located on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi and told him I needed to come stay with him because things weren’t working out with my mom.

So I moved to Mississippi, and this was like some shit I have never seen before. I had never been to a place where it was a 60/40 white population. I was used to Atlanta, the chocolate city, where, in the inner city, we have 5 white people tops in the whole school, but what was I to do? It was the only hand I had to play at the moment. Pascagoula was cool because we had an entire block of families that we referred to as the “Front Street & the Backstreet.” It sat behind St Peter’s Catholic Church and a residential park that we claimed as our own. That little area was like its own island; it was our little part of the world. I used to go down there a lot when I was younger but I hadn’t been there in years. I quickly reconnected with my childhood friends and cousins who I used to play with when I was a child. Everyone was excited to see that I had come from a big city like Atlanta to that little small town. I guess you can say they looked at me as a city slicker. I became the closest to my cousin Fred, we called him Freaky Fred, he was the same age as me, he stayed directly next door to me, and I would soon find out he shared the same hustle spirit as I did. Word travels fast in a small town so a lot of people found out that I got in trouble for selling weed. The older cats would always ask me if I was a hustler. I would reply, “That’s the only way I know how to be.” They liked to see a young dude with some drive and some

hustle. They were really big on family down there, so a lot of people looked out for me. Once I got settled in I started to make friends fast and the older guys on the backstreet took a liking to me—I guess ‘because I talked a lot of shit–I smoked weed—and I was cool as hell. I was the “lil homie;” “lil cuz” from Atlanta, is how they used to introduce me. I really liked my older cousin, Blaine. He was a high-yellow crazy nigga who didn’t give a fuck. He had a lil trap on the other side of town that I used to walk to when I wanted to get some weed. Fred didn’t smoke at the time, but he would walk with me over there to get weed, and we just started hanging with the older crowds a lot or sometimes we would just chill on the backstreet, drink beer, and talk shit. Every weekend and some days after school I had to work with my father who was a third generation brick mason, and was quickly trying to make me the fourth. The work was hard as hell. I can’t even front, but it was fun. It made me appreciate a hard day’s work and look forward to the reward. I’m 14 yrs. old and I’m bringing home 200 dollars every week when there was steady work. That’s a lot of money for a kid who isn’t into the things that regular kids were into.

My cousin, Fred, wasn’t doing bad either. In the summer he worked on the snowball truck, and he was making beaucoup money, and Fred was a mathematical genius. I used to see him on the Snow Ball truck taking all types of orders with no calculator, and he was always right with the numbers. When he wasn’t doing that, he was playing every sport that the school had to offer. I feel bad for introducing him to the lifestyle I was into, but he seemed to manage both of them pretty well. On one of those nightly runs to Blaine’s house Fred decided he wanted to smoke a blunt with me. We were sitting under my carport listening to 2pac’s “Me Against the World” CD and he told me to him the blunt. I thought he was bullshitting so I just laughed at him and kept smoking. He said it again “Man, me that shit,” so I did, and he took a couple of puffs. He was higher than a giraffe’s ass. After that night it became a normal thing. We would smoke together all the time. Fred and I started buying and selling weed together. I was showing him the game as my homie in East Point had shown to me, and he was a natural, and all about that money.

Like I said, Fred was an athlete playing everything from basketball, football, and track. He was very popular at school, and that is how I got to know everyone he

knew, plus the people I would meet on my own. I didn’t play sports; I felt I was too cool for that shit, and I was getting more popular than the star athlete just from selling weed. The word started to get around that Fred and I were the “goto” guys if you were trying to get high. We started off as a two-man crew, then, all of a sudden people just started wanting to hang with us every day and on the weekends it was even crazier. I didn’t make it to every game, because I didn’t really care for sports, and I still don’t to this day. I didn’t even want to watch the games, but I was there just to show my face. As soon as Fred and some of the guys got off the field, they were ready to party. I would have already been to the liquor store to get the cigars and whatever we were drinking. The Koreans at the liquor store never checked my ID, so I could buy whatever or however much I wanted. They knew my ass was underage, but I was a great tipper. Fred gave our crew a name “BSK,” (Backstreet Klick) and we were deep.

Chicks that wouldn’t normally talk to me in school started hitting me up on the weekends to party. White chicks that were head of all the student body clubs you can think of, straight A students and some of the damn cheerleaders were getting high with us. White people really changed my life, just seeing how they would party, seeing the hobbies they were into, and seeing all the drugs they could take, and still take care of their business. I liked that a lot, I would ask some of them how they could party so hard. A couple of guys told me they were “Weekend Warriors.” That was the first time I heard that phrase. I didn’t even mind, when we got back to school on Monday, that some of the chicks we were just partying with acted like they didn’t know me. I didn’t take it personal. It was just business, and fun, and that lesson stuck with me all my life. Hell, I really couldn’t blame them, I was the big bad city boy who was selling all the weed, and even my family thought I was a bad influence on some of their kids, or maybe they thought I was out of control. Once I got sent home from school for being too intoxicated at. I can’t lie, I walked in homeroom higher than a giraffe’s ass smelling like a pound of weed. I couldn’t deny it, but I didn’t have any weed on me, so they couldn’t do shit. Earlier that morning I was at the bus stop and my cousin, Snook, rolls up and asks if I wanted to get smoked out, and he would drop me off at school afterwards. I was like, fucking right I want to smoke. When Snook dropped me off at school, I opened the door to get out the car and clouds of smoke just rolled out the car. I got into the classroom and my teacher came up to me and told me to put my jacket in my locker, because it was distracting my classmates. My white classmates were snorting cocaine, smoking

crack, and mixing crack and weed together, and smoking that shit. Surely I wasn’t distracting them, but they sent me home for the day anyway.

We were only in the 10th grade. I had seen so much that nothing really shocked me. I wasn’t even shocked when I found out my dad was smoking crack. He would go on binges with hookers, cocaine, and crack, and he’d pawn or sell everything we had. The shit was just embarrassing. I had my own car when I was 14, before I even had a driver’s license. One day I got out of school and I’m walking to the school parking lot. I see my dad’s work car in my parking space where I had parked my car earlier. The power steering was busted and it had no gas in it. Later, while out riding in his piece of shit work car, I saw someone I didn’t even know driving his Cadillac. . This asshole had pawned his car for crack. After that day, I lost all respect for him and vowed I would never do cocaine because I knew it was the gateway drug to crack. Well, at least that’s what all those Nancy Regan commercials used to say in the 80’s. That wasn’t the first nor the last time he would do that. After I found out he was a crack head I pretty much just did whatever I wanted to do. I continued to hustle; I normally didn’t get home until 1 or 2 a.m. on a school night, but, to me at that time, that was just how it was. I continued to go to school, and I did pretty well for someone who was barely there. But you would never know how fucked up my home life was.

We were in high school partying like we were in college. The white kids I went to school with, their parents used to rent out condos on the golf course and throw parties. They were doing shit I had never seen. They would have the tub filled with ice and have two kegs in the tub. They had a counter full of 20oz coke bottles, all the bottles were spiked with Hennessey. They wanted Fred, our crew and I at these parties. Hell, we were at all the parties. This one party we were at, my cousin Bebe, Fred, and I were all drunk as hell off of Hennessey and high off weed. We see some guys from our weight lifting class and they are smoking what to us is a t. Fred looks to them and says, “Let me hit that shit.” They look at each other and start laughing and proceed to tell Fred that he doesn’t want to smoke their t. Fred walks closer to them and snatches the t out of the guy’s hand that is smoking and takes three hard-ass pulls off the t. Fred looks at them and says, “What’s in this shit?” They are looking with a blank

stare at him and they tell him they laced it with cocaine. That’s what we call a geek-t, people. We are dying laughing at this point, and Fred starts fucking tripping. He disappears and later we find him in a room throwing up off the balcony. At this point he is in the abyss, the point of no return. We ended up leaving after that, because Fred didn’t know if he was dead or just invisible. He kept asking everyone could they see him, and I was like, “Yes, motherfucker, we see you. You are not invisible.” Then he says, if we see him, then we must be dead too. The shit was so funny, that geek-t had him in another world. My cousin Bebe and I laughed at him the whole way home. We would have many more good times like that. No one in the world parties like white people do. On the weekends we used to do shit like go canoeing, and go to the beaches with a gang of beer, or go fishing. White people showed me how to enjoy life: how to dress like shit, keep a low profile, but keep some money, and enjoy the benefits of having money. Hanging out with my white friends taught me to always keep me some powerful friends with some good resources. Life is always about who you know, who you can help and who can help you. After all, if you are not useful you are useless.

Chapter 3 “HUMBLE BEGININGS”

My dad and his crack habit would interrupt all the fun I was having. My father decided it was a good idea to smoke us out of house and home. We ended up getting evicted out of the house we were renting. We had to move into the game room he had opened up in my name. On the weekends he would sell Bar-B-Que there; and, after school, I would go there to manage the game room. We had three pool tables and about twenty arcade games. It was a good business and made a lot of money, but I later found out he was using all the profits for his drug habits. Living in this game room would be the first place I ever took a “hoe bath.” Now, if you don’t know what a “hoe bath” is, let me explain. It’s basically taking a bath in the damn sink. You hit the hot spots and keep it moving. Let me tell you there is something very humbling about taking a bath in a sink. I just could never understand how drugs could control a person.

I eventually moved back to Atlanta, finished my last year of high school, and landed a job right out of high school working for MARTA, the transit authority in Atlanta. It wasn’t my dream job, but it was cool and I was making way more money than some of my peers who went off to college and got degrees. I started as a contract employee and, after six months I became fulltime and received a three-dollar raise, and some great health benefits. I even managed to buy my first house when I was 20 years old and that was pretty cool. At the time when I started there, I was one of the youngest employees there. All of my coworkers were in their late twenties, thirties, forties, and fifties. These were the people I was surrounded by everyday. I wasn’t even twenty years old yet. Most of my friends were in college, going to parties and having the time of their lives. I was a certified adult with bills, responsibilities, and places to be at certain times. It was a lot to take in because everyone I came in with wanted to give me life advice. People who hated their jobs and their lives for the most part surrounded me daily; it was like a bad dream. These were people who were just working to pay bills and not enjoying life; they just merely existed and were not living. I used to hear people always say, “I can’t afford to be sick.” I didn’t understand that phrase until I started working at MARTA. That phrase means that, even if I’m ill, I have to go to work because I can’t afford to miss the hours

or the overtime because I’m counting on every cent. To me, that was a crazy way to live. I worked with guys who always complained about their child and other bills. I had one guy tell me to never have kids because, after he pays his bills and his child , he only has enough money left to buy a 12 pack of beer. I was like, damn, that’s a horrible way to live. And it wasn’t just him— there were multiple guys with the same damn horror story—that’s probably part of the reason I don’t have kids to this day. Everyone seemed to be living check to check or beyond his or her means. They were lost in what I called, “The Good Job Mentality.” They thought that, since they had what society deemed a good job, they needed to have a big house and a nice car, but, in reality they were broke, and that’s why they were not happy. They had to work extra hard and long, and some people even had two jobs just to maintain their shitty lifestyle. If there was anything I learned from these people, it was not to live like them and to have low overhead so that I could enjoy my life. I never wanted to settle just for a good job or just a good career; to me there was more to life than that. I ended up working with that company fourteen years before I decided to step out of faith and start living my life. I, too, over time found myself becoming routine and living this mundane life that wasn’t thought provoking. It wasn’t challenging, it wasn’t creative, it was just a boring-ass job that paid the bills.

I managed to avoid a lot of the pitfalls that many of my peers had fallen victim to. Sometimes, when I look back on my past, I feel like, damn, is this the shit I did? Did I help start this, or did I just add fuel to the fire. I went to visit my family in Mississippi years later, and I my auntie telling me she thought I wasn’t going to make it at one point. She thought I was going down the wrong path. Maybe it looked that way, but I have always been in full control of what was going on with me. I always was a street nigga, but not like the kind that comes to mind when people think of guys who live that street life. I wasn’t out there robbing or killing anyone, but I was good friends with the people who were. No matter where I went people from the slums always took me in as if I was their own. I moved so much as a kid I was used to being the outsider. People just want you to be who you are, if you are not a killer, a bad ass or a gangster then don’t act like you are. I was always me no matter where I went and people accepted that and respected me for that. Back then I seemed to be the bad one, but came out way better than a lot of the kids in my family. I looked at my Auntie and told her that, “I always know when to throw in my hand.” She said, “That’s good,” and we just laughed. I look back and that’s very true. I always

kept a job to keep money coming in just like my grandfather told me to. I something my cousin Fred used to say, “Clock in, Clock out”—“Block in, Block out.” That basically means you never stop hustling, and I never did.

I know so many people, and every time someone had a new hustle or hit a lick they would call me. I met this one Jamaican guy and we got really cool, and he was into counterfeit money. He asked me if I knew anyone who would be interested in buying some fake bills. I made a few calls and, in less than a week, I had every jack boy calling me, buying tens and thousands of dollars in fake bills. I wasn’t making them, and the guy was only charging one thousand dollars real money for ten thousand fake, and we would split that so that was 500 for me. We must have done that ten times before we shut down shop, because we had flooded the whole Southside and most of the strip clubs with fake bills. That was just one of the many hustles I would run across in my life. I was always able to make a couple hundred dollars off my out-of-town friends who needed connections with different type of drugs. I grew up all over Atlanta and I was still good friends with a lot of career criminals and big time drug dealers all over the city. I had guys coming from Birmingham, Mississippi and New Orleans all the time to score pounds of weed or large amounts of ecstasy. I would always get my cut, 500 here a 1000 there, the money would add up. And whatever I made was just party money because I had a job, but I never spent the money I worked for on dumb shit. The motto is: if you make money in the streets, spread the love in the streets, and the streets will always take care of you.

For a while I was living this very boring life out in the suburbs; it was way different from what I was accustomed to. I had a nice bachelor pad, a two level townhouse with hardwoods throughout. I mostly went to work every day, went to Wal-Mart and to the grocery store. That was it, that was my life. I would stop at the liquor store every now and then and grab some Courvoisier and a 12pk of Miller High Life and go home and just chill. I even managed to get a live-in girlfriend for a short while. I think I knew her for all of three weeks before she moved in. My life was very random and weird like that. I lived for the moment. Hell, I didn’t even really see her much to be honest. If she wasn’t working, she was out volunteering or partying with her girls. About the time she got home, I

was in the bed asleep. It wasn’t long before my fun life turned into a very boring routine life of a 40-year-old man with a wife and 2 kids. Straight up Al Bundy type of life. It seemed like we never had sex, and I thought the coolest thing about having “in-house” pussy was to be able to have sex all the time.

It’s funny how life works. One day I broke the routine of my boring ass life and I went to go have brunch at this popular diner in East Point. I would go there alone just to grab food, and one day I met this waitress that worked there. She was short, thick, and chocolate; she was thicker than a stack of hundreds. Her name was Marie, and she had my attention all the way up until she told me she was a lesbian. But I didn’t let that stop me for getting to know her. I started going in there more and more and finally we became cool and we started to talk I told her that I had a girl at home and how I was unhappy that she was never there and that we don’t have sex. I know she probably thought I was full of shit but she came over for dinner one day after I invited her couple of times. Hell I used to cook dinner every day and eat alone anyway because my girlfriend was never there. The first time I invited Marie over my girl came home while I was cooking and Marie was sitting at the bar. I introduced them and we all sat down and had dinner together. After that Marie would come over all the time and kick it. One day my girl decides she was tired of staying on the Southside and I guess what we had wasn’t working for her anymore and I was totally fine with that. Once she left, Marie and I became closer, I liked her because she was from Southwest Atlanta also and she was super intelligent and street smart too she wasn’t no dummy in any area. I couldn’t believe she was a lesbian though but once we started having sex the shit was crazy she made up for the dry spell I was having in my nonsexual relationship with my ex-girlfriend. I loved that she was a freak, I loved her body she had a big stripper ass, small waist, no stomach and perfect breast with nipple rings in them. I liked that she was very secure with her body; she had no problem walking around the house completely naked or in a sexy pantie and bra set. I hated seeing her in clothes anyway, we spent most of our time naked partying or fucking and I don’t even want to say fucking because we used to have crazy ionate freaky ass orgasmic sex she never let my cock get soft and if she did she got it right back hard. I think I fell in love the first time she swallowed my babies, she sucked my cock like she loved me or like a proud prostitute would if you paid her. I loved cooking dinner for her, me on the stove cooking constantly glancing over at her as she sat half naked at the dinner table drinking wine as she waited for me to serve her dinner. We would be sitting

there eating dinner and something about the glow from the dim lights when it hits a chocolate woman body makes her glow and that shit would turn me on. I would make her stop eating immediately and bend her over the back of the couch and fuck her from the back with no thoughts of pulling out. It was like the creator made this woman for me. It was like her insides were molded for my cock. In my eyes she was perfect. She would clean up then clean me up then we would finish dinner. We just had a bond. She was my bitch and I was her nigga, and none of that lame western world girlfriend/boyfriend shit we didn’t do those titles.

Chapter 4 “TIME TO SWITCH IT ALL THE WAY UP.”

I needed a change of pace from the boring suburbs, so I got rid of my townhouse and moved to the more happening cooler part of town. I moved to the West Midtown area of Atlanta into a high-rise loft complex directly across the street from my job. It would take me five minutes to get to work from the time I got out of bed. The place had ten or so bars, a major nightclub, and one of the oldest dive bars in Atlanta within walking distance. I also had a couple of strip clubs in either direction. A Wal-Mart and a Target right down the street and a bunch of other shopping plazas nearby. The West Midtown area is truly one of the dopiest secrets in Atlanta. Marie and I had a lot of fun fucking in every part of that tiny loft space. In no time the place was feeling like home. I loved the concrete floors and the floor to ceiling glass windows, we never closed the blinds; we didn’t care if the neighbors watched when we had sex. I’m sure the voyeurs didn’t mind either. The complex was like Melrose place, a bunch of cool hip people and a gang of beautiful women. In the summertime the pool looked like South Beach in Miami. There would be so many hot chicks with fake breasts down there. On a beautiful day it would be nothing to spend the whole day at the pool until the sun went down. Everyone would bring coolers of beer, wine, and liquor. If you didn’t have a drink in your hand people would just offer or insist that you take a drink. At any given time someone would be BBQing on the grills in the courtyard. The place had this communal-living vibe to it. It was really peace and love and a breath of fresh air from the boring-ass suburbs I subjected myself to.

I quickly became a fixture at all the local bars, and I started to meet a bunch of people from my complex at the pizza spot across the street. It had a full bar, a ping pong table, and some really good food. I became really good friends with the owner and a lot of the employees there. One of the servers I knew before I moved over there because I only worked a block away so I used to go there on my lunch break all the time and have a beer or two. Hell, I even used to stop over there when I finished with work. I would drink some whiskey and see what trouble I could get into.

One day I was in there like three in the afternoon when I got off of work. I was there drinking and talking shit to the bartender, Kendrick, who was a buddy of mine. A young eclectic black woman came and sat at the bar. She asked me what I was drinking. I told her whiskey, and she asked wasn’t it too early for whiskey, and I replied it’s never too early for whiskey. I bought her a couple of shots just for shits and giggles. I mean, it’s like 3:30 p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. What better shit did I have to do? She wasn’t much to look at, to say the least, but she was cool. The more she drank the more she started telling me about herself. She went out of her way to tell me that she was married to a white guy like I really gave a fuck. I sat and talked to her until I think both of us had caught a buzz. She kept looking at her watch and out of the blue she asked did I want to come to her house and fuck her. I laughed and asked her what she said again. She said she wanted to be fucked before her husband got home at 5:30. Then she told me it was cool because she and her husband were swingers. I was like, oh hell, why didn’t you say something earlier. She stayed right down the street in M-Street apartments. When we got to her apartment I was tripping because when you walk in the living room and all you saw was a bed in the middle of the living room floor. She then begins to explain to me that they can fuck who they want to fuck. They just can’t fuck them in the bed that they share. I thought that was pretty cool and that would explain the random bed in the living room. I’m about drunk, and I’m trying to fuck this funny-looking bitch before her husband gets home. She goes to take a quick shower and I’m in the living room sitting on these swinger’s couch drinking this beer I never heard of before when I spot two big ass white cats. I don’t fuck with cats, I don’t like cats, and I’m allergic to cats. Plus, I never met a woman who owned a cat that wasn’t crazy. But I wasn’t going to let no cats come between me and some pussy; it was time to man up. She came and laid on her back and started squeezing and sucking her breast; she had this leather dominatrix outfit on, not that the outfit didn’t make things a little more interesting. She was just very talkative, I guess that was her thing, but it wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t in the mood for role playing ‘cause in the back of my mind I’m thinking her husband could come through the door any second. I just turned her over and starting pounding her pussy. In the middle of me fucking this crazy bitch her two large -ass cats just jumped up on the bed and start watching me fuck her. I was freaked out at this point and tried my best just to bust the fastest nut I could. I came and got the hell out of there. I didn’t want her number or nothing. I was through with her and her perverted-ass cats. This type of shit was just another day in my newfound life.

After random shit like that happened, I made stopping at the bar when I got off of work a regular routine. I used to go up there and bullshit with this chick named Lee I was cool with. Lee was a server and she would sometimes bartend there. I was cool with her boyfriend Jon also who was one of the chefs there, so I would bullshit with him when I saw him. One evening I was over there at the bar talking to Jon I told him that I had moved right across the street from the bar just a couple weeks ago. Jon said he wanted to come over and check out my new space since it was right across the street and he always wanted to know what they looked like on the inside. I invited him up for a drink and we went over and I fixed a couple drinks for him and myself. I told him the straws are located in the drawer next to the fridge. He opens the drawer and starts smiling and says, “Damn, man, you been holding out. I didn’t know you partied.” Me, having no clue what he was talking about at the time, looked in the drawer, and it was a bag of cocaine with a cut-off straw in it. So I just laughed and played it off, and he asked me if he could do some lines, so I said sure. He finished his drink and snorted a couple lines of blow and went back to work. Later, Marie came back over with her homeboy Chris, and I asked her did she know anything about the blow. She said she and Chris were partying hard the night before and it was Chris’s blow that he left because he was too scared to drive home with it. I laughed because the shit was funny. People get so paranoid when they do blow. We all sat down, had a drink, and Marie told me from time to time she does blow with her friends. It wasn’t a big deal to me. Marie was what most people would call a fag hag. She had a bunch of gay friends, and her best friend Chris was gay as hell, but he was cool. I would have never known he was a funboy (that’s what we call gay guys) if Marie didn’t tell me.

Meanwhile Jon, the pizza chef, went back to work and told a couple of people that I had some really good blow. Jon and his crazy girlfriend Lee, just kept asking me more and more if I could get my hands on some more blow for them. Lee started telling me over and over, “Man, you would make so much money just sitting here at the bar,” a lot of people like to do blow when they are partying. She said all you need to do is just have it, and she would let me know who needed some. I was green to this term “Party” but it means to do blow. So I’m lying in bed with Marie and I tell her what Lee was saying. Marie just rolled over and looked at me and asked me what I was going to do. At that point I knew what I was going to do. I called one of my good friends who I have been knowing since middle school and who I also worked with at my current place of

employment and told him what I was trying to do, and he told me to come see him so I did. I went to the Southside of Atlanta, College Park to be exact. He was trapping not too far from where we grew up, in one of the hood, sketchy as hell apartments off of Roosevelt Highway. I rolled up in there, he jumped in the car and I gave him a hundred dollars. Since I didn’t have a scale or know what I was doing, he gave me $200 worth of cocaine bagged up all in $20 dollar sacks.

On my way back to the city I had some alone time to think that maybe what I’m doing isn’t such a good idea. That lasted for like three minutes then I said, fuck it I’m all in … I got home, took a quick shower and got ready to go sit at the bar and see if I could sell any of this cocaine. I just carried on like it was a normal Friday night. I go hang out at the bar, and I tell Lee that I had some more blow. I usually referred to Lee as Hurricane because the bitch was crazy as hell. She stated she was glad I had some blow, because she needed $200 worth. I gave her all the bags I had, and just like that, they were gone. She was pissed about them being all broken down into twenty sacks, but took them anyway and in less than 20 minutes I doubled my money, so I went back to the Southside that very night with 200 dollars. I did that like two more times before my homie cursed me out and told me to buy a scale and showed me how to weigh it up and bag it.

My other homie at work, C-Mack, was giving me some free game because he used to sell blow back in the day. So he would tell me what to look out for and reminded me to keep a low profile. Marie’s friend Chris started coming to me for blow on a regular. He said the shit I was getting was way better than the guy he usually buys from. Chris brought me over 30 customers just in that whole gay crowd he was in. Most of them were Weekend Warriors so they partied like rock stars on the weekend. I would soon learn how much funboys loved their cocaine. Lee became the best middle man in the world. She would let me know all the people who came to the bar trying to score, and I would find out later a lot of them were my neighbors that stayed in the building. But I didn’t like meeting new people so she would never let them know where she was getting it from.

A lot of people thought I was selling them crack because they were not used to

getting cocaine so hard and compressed like I was selling it. I rarely ever bought powdered cocaine. I would get mine straight off the brick of cocaine, I seeing the stamp in the middle of a kilo for the first time, and it was like the shit you see in the movies. I didn’t do cocaine, so that was one of the ways I ensured myself I was getting some good shit. I used to do the tongue test or have Marie try the shit just to double check but I never tried it. A lot of dealers cut their cocaine with baby laxative, baking soda, or some shit called Miami Ice. I quickly learned that most black people who use cocaine thought it meant the cocaine was really good if it made them have to take a shit in like 5 minutes of having a couple bumps. No, dumb ass, someone cut your cocaine with baby laxative. Our people are so ignorant at times, but I was giving them an education in A-1 cocaine.

Chapter 5 “COCAINE AND CUMSTAINS”

With all the customers Chris was bringing from that gay party scene I was happy and I had no innuendo of how crazy shit was about to get, or how freaky cocaine makes women. Bitches love blow. One night Lee came and bought a $100 sack from me, and even later that night like 3 a.m. she texted me and told me to come to the bar and get some drinks. I was like, “Damn, ain’t the bar closed?” And she was like, “Yeah, just come over.” So I get over there, her and Jon are sitting there drinking and snorting that blow. They made me a drink, and she goes to the bathroom. He starts telling me how Lee wants to fuck me, and I just laugh the shit off like, is this nigga trying to see if I like his girl or some shit like that? So I’m like, whatever, and he is like, no nigga, I’m serious. Just listen, we do this all the time. So she comes out from the restroom. I finish my drink and she gets me another drink, but when she brings my drink to me she is naked and has a seat on one of the couches across from me and tells me to come to her. Jon is watching from the other side of the bar and this is the reason why I never leave home without rubbers. I started fucking that white girl like I was getting back at master for 400 years of slavery.

I can’t lie, it was a real adrenaline rush and ego booster fucking the shit out of his bitch while he sat there and watched knowing he couldn’t please her at the time. So, cocaine makes women really horny, and it makes the guys cock not work, so I was surely never going to try cocaine. That was the first episode, but there would be many more to come. Another night she called me over, telling me to come to the bar to have drinks, and I’m thinking, oh no, not this shit again, so I bring some people over with me ‘cause I was tired from fucking Marie all that day. But it was her, and this Asian guy named Dede that was one of the bartenders there.

Dede was a GA Tech whiz kid, and also the neighborhood coke dealer. Lee bought some blow for them to do, with Dede’s money I’m sure and we just sat there drinking up all the free drinks we could drink till like 6 a.m. Dede tells me he needs a new connect because the blow he gets is really shitty, and he sees

mine is pretty good. He gets really high and tells me how much clientele he has in my building, and I’m thinking in my head I need to make all his customers, my customers. I sell him some high quality blow a couple times just to get all his customers used to my product, and then I cut him off after two months. I cut him off for a couple of reasons. One is that I didn’t like the way he used to try and be tough when he came to my house to do business. He was used to ghetto-ass black guys who tried to rob him, or tried to get over on him because he was this Asian guy. Secondly he brought a gun into my house, and that’s probably what was giving him the balls in the first place to try and play all tough. So I cut him off, and told him he was no longer welcome in my house and no longer welcome to buy blow from me. The timing couldn’t have been better. He finds out his girlfriend is pregnant so he wants to stop selling coke and get his life together. Dede was getting high on his own supply anyway, so I don’t even think he was making any real money. He was bartending one afternoon when I went to the bar to grab some drinks. He apologized for bringing the gun in my house, and told me he understood why I cut him off. He said every time he did business with black guys they would short him or try robbing him so he thought I was like the rest of the black guys he was used to dealing with. I told him it was no hard feelings and that I wasn’t even tripping on the shit. He told me about him and his girl having a baby on the way and he was going to have to stop selling blow. So he wanted to make things right with me, plus he knew I had some really good blow. He said he wanted to send me all of his customers. He later introduced me to at least ten people in my building that he was selling blow to. I got to know them all before long. Then the craziest shit happens, Dede finds out his girlfriend was never pregnant, and that she went back to Thailand because she didn’t want to be with him anymore, so the fucker goes home and blows out his brains.

So now, all of the people he introduced to me started telling their friends and they started telling their friends about me, and how good the product I was selling was. From Friday night to Sunday afternoon the whole complex would turn into a scene from a movie. I started calling the place “The Carter” just like what Nino had in New Jack City because I stayed on the top floor and had basically took over the whole building. Everyone was chill; no one snitched on me because everyone was like, “Damn we don’t have to leave the building now to get coke.” I was charging 60 dollars a gram, and there are 28 grams in an ounce, so sometimes I would sell 3 ounces in 2 days and not leave home and it would get even crazier than that. Come to find out my neighbor in front of me

was friends of one of the guys who Dede introduced me to. Dede hooked me up with this surfer type dude that stayed in the building as well. A real cool, laidback guy from California. He was super chill and loved weed and blow. JBoogie was his name, and one day he asked me was it cool if he introduced me to some more of our neighbors because they like to party too so I said sure and we go up two floors and we go to the 6th floor directly in front of my place. I was thinking, damn, this is pretty close. He introduced me to the fella that lived there.

His name was Christian, and he was one of those Jersey-shore-looking fuckers, but he was from Pittsburgh. He was cool at times, but he was a real douche bag too and didn’t even know it. He was cheap as hell, and all his friends used to complain that he never chipped in on the blow, but just liked to leech off of them. The first time I met Christian, he rubbed me the wrong way. He starts telling me how J-Boogie was telling him that he was copping from someone on his floor and he says, “Man, when I seen you, I knew J-Boogie was talking ‘bout you.” Now J-Boogie didn’t tell him I was black or who I was. He just said the dude lives on your floor. Christian just keeps going on and on about how he knew it was me. I didn’t like that shit at all. Then, when he sees I’m not entertaining the shit he is talking about, he immediately starts telling me ‘bout some black guy he grew up with. Why the fuck do white people feel the need to go out of their way to tell black people that they have a black friend? I don’t want to hear this shit, and I don’t give a fuck about your one black friend. Christian did however have a really cool friend named Don that used to come get an 8 ball or two from me every week and hell, sometimes he tipped me twenty dollars.

I met two more neighbors through Christian that really stood out to me named Shane and Asian Jason. They just called him Asian Jason because, for one he was Asian, and two, we had like five different Jason’s that we hung out with that lived in the complex. I would see Shane grilling all the time in the courtyard. Asian Jason was from Utah and was a very quiet, nice, well-rounded guy. He was an entrepreneur that ran a marketing company from his loft. I the first time Jason came to my house, he noticed my specialized dual suspension mountain bike hanging from the ceiling. He says “Damn, man, that’s a nice bike.

That shit is like two thousand dollars.” I told him he was right. That’s how much I paid for it. He seemed to be in shock that I mountain bike, or either that I had such a nice bike. I told him that I’ve been mountain biking for years, and I also cycle. He was very intrigued by me owning that damn mountain bike for some reason.

One night we ended up accidently hanging out, when I was getting dropped off at home by a cab and he was in the cab in front of me getting dropped off as well. He was wasted coming from some party in midtown, and I was wasted coming from Atlantic Station. We got out of our cabs pretty much at the same time and we see each other, I don’t know why when we noticed each other, we just both burst out laughing, maybe because we were both fucked up. We made it through the security gate and got on the elevator and he says “Man, you should come to my place and have a drink.” I told him that sounded like a plan. We get inside his place and we crack open a couple of beers. He offers me some weed from his bong, and I tell him I’m good. He offers me some blow out of a bag that I had sold him a couple days before and I tell him I’m good. He looks at me and says “You don’t smoke or do any coke do you? I told him that I didn’t. He says “That’s really good, man. I mean, that’s very smart on your part.” Jason starts telling me that back in Utah he started selling cocaine to some of his friends back when he was in college. He kept going on and on about how much money he was making. Then he says, “Man, I know you are making a killing over here off of us.” I try to downplay it, like I’m not doing that well. He told me it wasn’t no need for me to be modest, because every time he is hanging out with the different people in the building, at least one of them usually suggests they come and cop some blow from me. He tried to get all deep on me and tells me he has been watching me, and he can tell I’m not the average black guy. I asked him what he meant by “average black guy.” He said he knew black guys that always tried to act tough, like they had something to prove, and that I was the opposite. I just told him I didn’t have anything to prove, that I was just being me. He wanted to know if I was from the ghettos of Atlanta like I claimed, how I got into mountain biking and cycling. He wanted to know who did I meet, or what life events turned me into the person I was. He didn’t want to know me the drug dealer, he wanted to know the person that rescued a dog with a broken leg, the person that volunteers in the community. He knew there was way more to me than the guy that was selling everyone one cocaine. But I wasn’t going to give him any of those answers he wanted. I told him I was fucked up and had to go to

sleep. I said, Jason, we should meet like this again. I left his house feeling like some damn people really have a one-track mind when it comes to black men. I wasn’t offended. I know he was only asking because he genuinely wanted a better understanding of who I was. I didn’t see the crime in that.

At the end of the day people just want to know who they are dealing with. I would have many more random one on one conversations with a lot of my neighbors I was selling cocaine to. It’s just something about booze and drugs that bring out the talker in people. Drugs are a big stress reliever for a lot of people. At the end of the day people just need to be able to vent to someone who is willing to listen. A lot of the times I was that person listening to their problems, listening to them vent and who they would come to when they wanted some advice. I really was like a counselor but I didn’t mind. I know what it is like to want to be heard. My neighbor Shane always wanted to be heard, he would come over to vent or just talk when he had shit on his mind. Shane and I spent a lot of time together, we both shared the love for cooking and love for drinking. When I would cook dinner I would invite him over and he would do the same. He would make the best mustard based barbeque sauce from scratch and bottle it up and give it to me. It was my cocaine I would put it on everything. If I ran out of liquor or beer I would head to Shane’s house because I knew he had some. If he needed anything he would head to my house as well and if we both were out we would just say fuck it and head to the liquor store. He didn’t have a regular job so he was able to make his own schedule, so we would hang out all the time.

Shane was a local photographer that had local success for some of his work. He was extremely cool—a nice guy with a big heart—but cocaine and liquor weren’t his friends. He had a very tall beautiful blonde girlfriend that always complained about him, and how he would get drunk and high and spend all their money on blow. He later became a good genuine friend of mine, but I never trusted anyone completely who I was selling to because I knew what brought us all together. I met his crazy-ass Indian best friend named Shawn and he was a fucking train wreck. He would drink and do coke all night till he ed out. He was a rich kid who stayed in the Sugarloaf area of Atlanta; he ran some Super 8 hotels that his family owned and he was running the business into the ground. He would come to me two or three times a month and spend 600 dollars each

time. He used to buy blow for the Mexican contractors and local prostitutes that would stay at his hotel and he would skim off the top of the stuff so he could get high for free. This fucker was robbing his family blind. He used to take all the change out of the vending machines and washing machines then take that shit to coin star and turn it into cash and buy more blow for his personal habit. One day he came to me with like 300 dollars worth of quarters. I just shook my head at him, I’m like, “Shawn, ain’t no way in hell I’m taking this change.” He would come see me a lot, but he didn’t want me to let Shane know that he was coming to me as much as he was. I told him his secret was safe with me, and it was. I wasn’t ‘bout to fuck up my money.

Back at the local hangout spot where Lee worked, she introduced me to a neighbor of mine that she called Cupcake. Cupcake was hella cool. He was this pale 6’5 6’6 slim, balding, red head white guy. I became really close and cool with him; he was damn near 40 but I liked him because he never had anything bad to say about anyone. He never tried to get over on me, or freeload blow off me because we were cool. He has to be the first real live recluse I have ever met. I never saw him in any other clothing that wasn’t black. We rarely, if ever saw him in the day time, and if we did he would meet us at the pool fully clothed in all black and he never got in the water. He made a lot of money doing stuff with computers. I think he was an IT expert, and I know he used to be into hacking computers when he was younger. He worked from home and at night he would be ready to party. He became my road dog plus he only stayed 2 doors down from me.

We often would party with one of our neighbors named Jen, who we nicknamed train wreck, and boy, did she live up to her name. When I met Jen I didn’t know she was so young, I later found out that she was just 19 or 20 years old, but she looked 30, and kept a fake ID. She worked as a cocktail waitress and part-time dancer at this strip club called Oasis. Jen would meet a lot of high-end clientele at the club, and she sometimes would bring them home to party with her. Three people I met through her really stood out, her boyfriend named Justin, her sugar daddy named Tony, and her lawyer friend named Josh who she met at the club. Justin is a very short white guy about 5’2 or 5’3 from New Orleans, and he was a bartender at this female strip club and also a bar manager at a gay strip club,

which I thought was very weird.

Until this one night, Jen, Justin, and a friend Justin went to college with and I all went to hang out. Now Justin’s friend seemed a little sweet to me but who am I to judge? We are all hanging out at this bar in downtown Decatur called Trackside and we are just sitting there when I notice that Justin’s college friend was constantly catching an attitude with Jen. Jen calls him out on it, and they get into it, then in the middle of them talking shit, Justin’s friend just ups and storms out. I’m sitting here like “What the fuck just happened, Bro,” I said jokingly, “man, are you and this dude fucking because he was acting weird.” Justin looks at Jen and I and says, “He sucked my dick a couple times in college, but that was it” Then he leaves to see what’s up with his friend. I just looked at Jen and said, “did he say that his friend used to suck his dick back in college?” Jen says, “Yes, I know he is bi, but it doesn’t bother me.” I’m like, “Ok, I will have another drink” I’m not sure how that night ended for them but I called a cab and got out of that weird ass situation. I now understood how he could bartend looking at naked men all night, but Justin became a regular customer and really helped my business. I never went inside that male strip club; that just wasn’t some shit I was going to do, but the female strip club I had no problem going to whenever he called. He would get a lot of business men in town on business trips and a lot of local businessmen who wanted to party with endless cash flow, and they didn’t mind paying $200 for an 8 ball. Some days I would just go there and sit at the bar, and he never would charge me for anything as long as I would deliver his goods whenever he needed me to. So I started meeting a lot of the strippers who work there and they became my customers also. Some of the dancers didn’t do blow. I had this one dancer who would buy a 8ball from me for $150 and turn around and sell it to drunk guys for $250. They would have guys who wanted to fuck and party in VIP so either they would come to my house and get it, or I would deliver it to the strip club.

One night I went to the club to take Justin a couple 8balls and I stayed there for a while having some drinks with my back to the bar just looking at all the dancers and checking out the scene. The DJ calls a dancer to the stage by the name of Paris. This woman was tall and either was black and Spanish or black and Italian. I noticed she had really strong features, big hands and was a very tall

woman. Justin tapped me on the shoulder and whispered in my ear “That pretty bitch used to be a man.” I turned around and he is dying laughing. I’m like man, “get the fuck out of here;” he tells me that he wasn’t bullshitting. I’m like, “man, I can see this woman clearly has a pussy.” He said “some of the other dancers say if you get really close to her pussy you can see the surgery scars.” I said, “man, give me some ones I have to see this shit for myself.” I went to the stage with a couple of ones trying to see if I could see any scars by her pussy. I didn’t see any scars, but after looking at that pretty-ass boy, I could see she used to be a man, but they did a good job on her pussy. It was well put together. That shit was so funny to me, after she got off staged she asked me if I wanted to get a dance. I declined and bought that pretty ass boy a drink instead.

Thursday’s, Friday’s and Saturday nights the dancers would call me up until six in the morning just partying and buying blow for these rich guys. Since I stayed right down the street from the club a couple of the dancers would always stop by my house to chill before or after work, and I didn’t really care having sexy half naked women just wanting to chill at my place. I didn’t even try to have sex with them because I’d rather have that constant money coming in and that club connection than have that pussy. Sex plays out, but money never plays out, and I think they really respected a guy who wasn’t trying to have sex with them because they get that all day. My life was becoming more and more like a sitcom and was very interesting at times. Jen’s friend, Tony, would stop by from time to time. He was a real likable guy. He was an older married Italian guy who was really smooth and came across like he was in the mafia. Really cool respectable guy who knew how to do business. Trainwreck, aka Jen, provided a nice safe place for him to get his rocks off with her, and to get high as hell. He would buy two 8 balls at a time also, and leave me a twenty or fifty-dollar tip; I never had any problems out of him.

Josh, who I met through Jen as well. Had come by a couple of times very briefly, but one time I sat down and had some drinks with them when I was dropping an 8ball off and he said some shit to me that had me like what the fuck!! That first time when I met him I didn’t know he was a lawyer but he was drunk and high babbling about how good my cocaine was and that he hadn’t had any this good since before BMF was locked up. The light bulb went off in my head so I asked

him what did he know about BMF and he was bragging about how half of them he put away when he was a D.A. and then the other half he represented when he was no longer a D.A. That shit spooked the fuck out of me so I just made some excuse to leave, I went home and Googled his ass and there he was in this long ass article that Creative Loafing had done on BMF. Sometime later I saw that fucker on TV when they did a special on Gangland about BMF. What a crooked muthafucka is all I could think but on the flip side of that I had to realize that’s his job. Josh, the judge, or other lawyers aren’t any different from regular people. They all like to party, fuck, and just let loose on the weekend.

Once I even had to call Josh and get some legal advice. He was very professional and straight to the point. I was at Northside Tavern one day with my favorite vegan tree hugger couple Trey and Caroline shooting pool and a damn German Shepard bit me. You read it right, I was in this shitty bar about five in the afternoon just shooting the shit with C-Mack and Trey and Caroline. They didn’t do blow by the way, they were just some cool hippies I would hang out with and when they would go out of town I would watch their cat. So after losing to Caroline in a game of pool I went to the bar to order some more PBR’s and get some change for another game. On the way to the bar I’m just walking and out of the blue, this big ass dog just jumps on me and damn near bites my nipple off. Truth be told yeah I had a couple of drinks but I don’t know how in the fuck I didn’t see this dog. There was this couple at the bar and they had him in between them on the leash, it was dark in there and the damn dog was dark too. So I’m walking to the bar but I was looking back at the people I was with and I was talking shit so I didn’t see the dog and I stepped on its tail. Oh fuck, you talking about a buzzkill; one second you’re walking to the bar to get some brews and then an angry dog is trying to attack you. I beat him off and luckily his owners had him on the leash. So my heart is beating like crazy, but I made it to the bar and was able to order my drinks. The bartender is looking like, what the fuck. The dog owners are apologizing, and my friends are at the pool table falling out fucking laughing. I must it it was funny as hell, but I was hoping I didn’t have rabies. The owners bought me a couple rounds of beers, and I went on playing pool like it was nothing. The next day I decided to give Josh a call just to see if I had a legal case. Get a load of this shit. Come to find out I wasn’t the first person to get bit by a dog there; what are the odds? After I talked to Josh, I just said fuck it and decided not to pursue any further legal action.

Another night I was summoned to Jen’s house; she had this weird-ass, oddball couple there, Mike and Leah, who also stayed in the building. Mike was this closet racist who swears he knows everything about black people and their struggle. I didn’t like him at all from the first time I met him. He was just this socially-awkward asshole. His girlfriend, Leah, who was black, had no clue that she was Mike’s science project. Mike was this certified douche bag and a creep; everything about him was really weird and just wrong. Leah was this want-to-be bougie white woman trapped in this black girl body. But, hey, this just comes along with the business.

One day they were late night partying with Jen and wanted some party favors. We exchanged numbers and Leah texted me later that week when they were having a party and said they wanted me to come over, and be sure to bring some party favors. She was sure they would sell out fast and she was right. I ended up bringing Marie with me to give off the whole couple vibe, and Marie would always make it easy for me to be around all these fake-ass people I had to deal with in my new lifestyle. Leah and Marie hit it off well. I wasn’t surprised; everyone loves Marie. Leah has a gay best friend and so does Marie so they talked all night, but by the end of the night Marie was over Leah’s ass because Leah could talk your fucking ear off. Meanwhile, I’m playing the back scene and networking. Then Mike’s drunk and high ass comes over telling me he really thinks I’m a cool guy, and he didn’t just invite me over because I had the drugs and blah blah blah, It was just something about him that I didn’t like; I didn’t even like him a little bit. It could have been the corny black jokes or just him being a drunken jerk. Still, I had to go to a lot of parties and listen to a lot of lies to keep my business going and it was fine with me, it was just part of the job at this point. Who doesn’t have to deal with bullshit with their job?

Jen introduced me to another one of our neighbors named Shelly. She was just drop-dead gorgeous. She had short blonde hair, a banging body with a bunch of tattoos and was really cool. Shelly was also a beautician who owned a salon in the building in a very big live workspace. Shelly’s boyfriend at the time, Matt, lived with her, was a DJ, and he was a delivery driver for Edible Arrangements

part-time. Both of them partied real hard and became loyal customers. They also had their own hustle; they used to sell ecstasy and prescription pills. Matt loved that cocaine way more than he did his girlfriend. Sometimes he didn’t have much money, so he would try to get things on credit, and I told him I didn’t do credit for people that I barely know. I asked him could he hook me up with a fruit basket from his job, because I knew some of those things were like 75 bucks or more. He said, sure it wouldn’t be a problem, so I gave him like a $100 bag of powder, and he hooked me up with like 300 dollar’s worth of fruit baskets. I sent a really big one to the leasing office where I was staying; they really loved me after that fruit basket. I also had him deliver a couple to a few women I was dating at the time so that was official, so he came through in many ways. I loved the bartering system that cocaine allowed me to be a part of. I wanted to keep my leasing office happy and off my ass, so I would do nice little things like that for them or send them lunch, just in case someone would complain about me they wouldn’t take it seriously. I really would spread the wealth around over there. I didn’t want people to feel like I was getting all this money, even though I was. I would always give back in some way.

One night Matt calls me over and he was having some friends over from out of town. I must it I loved the way they were living over there. They had this nice two level live/work loft, but lived like squatters. They had mattresses on the floor, clothes, shoes and beer cans everywhere. I think I just like people who have nice shit, but don’t give a fuck about it. Matt said he had something he wanted me to see, plus, he wanted to grab some blow. I wasn’t doing shit so I went over there. I walk in from the downstairs entrance, and all I see are these nice-ass rugs laid all over the floor. He introduced me to his friends who had come in from out of town who had a whole van full of stolen rugs from a rug store that one of them worked at. These were two and three thousand dollar rugs, I know because I looked them up online. Matt quickly pointed out a rug to me and said this one would go with your couch, you should get it. He was right, and I thought about buying it, but they were trying to sell it to me for $500, and I was like, man, I don’t need a rug, but I will give you two 8 balls for it. He said that was a bad deal for him. I said ok, but if you change your mind you know where to find me. I sold them two grams of cocaine and headed back home.

Around six in the morning they hit me up and asked me if I still was interested in the rug. I told them sure to bring it over. The whole time I knew like Matt knew that the rug would go great with my sofa and I wanted it. I wasn’t going to pay five hundred dollars for it though. So you tell me who won? I gave him 300 dollar’s worth of coke and he gave me a rug that was 2000 dollars. After I looked it up online, I started to buy it just to sell it on eBay and see if I could get 1500 for it, but I decided to keep it because it was really nice. It wasn’t even three days later after I bought the rug that the neighborhood douchebag, Christian, stopped by. I put a couple of rules in place for people who came into my home. One of the rules was to not walk on the rug with shoes on. If you have a lot of traffic coming through your house it’s kind of hard to keep your nice shit looking nice, so, therefore, I came up with the no shoes on the rug rule. So, surprisingly, Christian isn’t coming over to freeload a bump off of me. This time he actually has money and wants to buy a bag. He even brings a couple of beers over, which has me even more shocked. He looks at the rug and says, “Damn, that’s a nice rug.” I said, “Thanks I just got it.” He was standing on the rug as he was talking to me, so I kindly ask him not to stand on it. I could tell he has had a couple of drinks, so when I had to tell him a second time not to stand on the rug I wasn’t irritated. As I’m in the kitchen weighing the bag of blow up for him I tell him about my no-shoe policy for the rug again. This fucker comes out of his mouth and says, “I know you got the rug from Matt on a hookup.” See, come to find out he was over there at Shelly’s getting a haircut when Matt’s friends came into town and brought the rugs in. Christian basically couldn’t understand why I was being so anal about something I got on a hook up. At this point he had pissed me off, I looked at him and said, “Nigga, who the fuck are you to come in my house and question me about how I run shit in my house?” I started walking toward him and he is saying, “Bro chill. I’m sorry I didn’t mean it that way.” I replied, “fuck chill and get the fuck out of my house.” I really wanted to hit him in his fucking mouth, but I kicked the bastard out instead, and I didn’t even sell him the blow he originally came over to get.

I think he knew he really had pissed me off, because after that he would have Shane come over and buy the blow for him. The next time Shane came over he had made a joke that he wasn’t going to walk on my rug because he didn’t want to get kicked out my house and have his cocaine privileges revoked. We laughed and I told him he was a very smart man. Once, Shane came over with a crazy deal that I just couldn’t up. He had just bought his girlfriend a new BMW a

couple days before, and he needed some extra money. He damn near was begging me to buy her 1992 Volvo 240. I’m like Shane, man; I do not need a car. He told me to just come and look at it. I went and looked at it; it was very clean and had a lot of character. So I said fuck it and I bought it. I looked like a soccer dad in it, but most importantly the police wasn’t looking at it like it was a drug dealer’s car, and it was good for what I needed it to do, and that was to keep a low profile.

I’m at the house one day and Chris hits me up and says he is trying to party and he is at some of his friends’ house that just moved in the building, and he wanted to come up to cop something. I told him a friend of his, is a friend of mine and to come on up. I answered the door and it’s Chris and Mark, this slim, 6’9 funboy looking like a giant, and I’m like, what the fuck? But he was cool, so I gave him my number plus Chris had vouched for him and he stayed in the building. I think all the gays partied at this cat Mark’s house. He also became a regular customer. One day Mark called and told me he noticed I wore a lot of Ralph Lauren Polo, and he had some for sale if I was interested. So I went down to his place and this nigga place was laid; he had a fly couch, like the ones you see at Huff Furniture for ten grand. Come to find out the dude is into credit-card fraud and tells me he can get anything out of Lenox Mall that I wanted. I bought the couple of items he had down there at his place, and my homeboy C-Mack got a couple of items too. I also gave him a list of items that I wanted and a special order of a Polo leather jacket that was 800 dollars. He said those items wouldn’t be a problem, and if I would get my friends to buy some things, he would give me a better deal. I told him not a problem. He ended up getting that coat for me for $200, a $1000 watch for $200 and over $2000 worth of clothes for $500. I got him to get a couple of handbags for the fraction of the price for some women I was dating as well. All of my homeboys bought polo jackets, and we were very happy with that come up. He rarely ever bought anything with cash after that. He would just get me clothes and I would give him blow. Man, I got everything from socks to cologne from this dude, and I didn’t have to step one foot out of my place. I had Lenox mall right downstairs.

The dating scene became very nonexistent for me because it’s hard to explain to someone why I kept having to go outside fifty times throughout the night or why

random people keep dropping by. I really became a prisoner in my home to some degree. I dated Marie off and on during my whole dope-boy career. We pretty much had an open relationship so she didn’t mind me dating or fucking other chicks, and if she did I don’t think that would have stopped me anyway.

Marie knew what I was into, but I hid the drugs from friends and family and especially women I was dating as much as I could. When I started to pick up a larger volume of clients I needed some sort of alibi to justify my constant movement around this loft complex.

So one day I went across the street to the humane society to find a dog to adopt and met this middle age white woman who was trying to drop off this dog who had a broken leg, but the humane society didn’t accept hurt animals and she said she couldn’t afford to get the dog’s leg fixed, so with little convincing I rescued that 6 month old red-nose pitbull puppy and named her Lola. The lady had set everything up with the vets to get me a discounted rate to get the dog fixed. When I got there and realized it was going to be $1500 to get it fixed I wasn’t even mad, it wasn’t like I didn’t have the money. The first day I brought her home from the vet it was a beautiful summer day and everyone was at the pool or in the courtyard BBQ-ing. I had Lola on a leash and she was hopping on that broken leg with the cast on it and everyone stopped me and said how adorable she was, and was concerned about what happened to her. I told them that she was one those dogs in that Mike Vick dogfighting scandal that I rescued, and it stuck, so I ran with that lie. Everyone started telling their friends and neighbors what a great guy I was because I rescued that dog and, at the time, them white people hated Mike Vick’s ass for that dogfighting shit. Lola and I instantly became the coolest residents at the loft. She was a real conversation piece. It’s sad and funny… but when I used to take her to the Piedmont Park dog park she was a chick magnet and I believe white people love rescued animals more than they love people. Back at the Loft Lola had to earn her keep with the late night walks back and forth to the parking garage or the side streets where I would serve my customers to make daddy look like a good guy.

I started dating this beautiful Haitian girl that was green to the fact that I was selling drugs, and one night she stayed over and she noticed I kept taking Lola out for a walk, and she was like “damn how often does she have to use it?” I simply stated that she had a weak bladder cause of all the meds she had to take for the broken leg. That went on for a while and she never really caught on, ‘cause, like I said, she was really square. She used to come over a lot and just cook, drink and chill, so when my neighbors came over it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. They would come over and use code words like, “I need to get a “beer” from you,” and when I would walk them out, we would just make our transactions like that. Once she invited one of her female friends over named Christy. She and Christy had made plans to have a girl’s night, which usually just consisted of drinking and stating why men/women ain’t shit, so I took them both downstairs to dinner at the restaurant Chowbaby because they were hungry. Christy seemed to be cool, she had one of those bodies of a goddess and a face from hell, but her ass looked like she worked at Magic City. So during dinner I just started noticing her friend’s body language and how she seemed to have the worst sinuses on earth. I have seen this a thousand times. Right then I knew that she liked blow. It was easy to tell, and I knew just how to see if she really did. When we got back upstairs I went to the bathroom and put a bag of blow in the top drawer. I told her to go to the bathroom, where I had some sinus medicine in there for her. Just as I expected, she went in there and snorted some of that blow and she was straight. Mich had no idea that her friend was a coke head. As Mich was getting sleepy and Christy said she was about to leave, I said I would walk Christy out to her car. I gave her a bag to go, and we exchanged numbers. I don’t think it was a week later that Marie and I were fucking her. We ran into her one night at MJQ. I had already told Marie about her after I met her. I saw Christy talking to one of my homies who does tattoos so when I saw him by the bar, I had asked him about her. He told me that she was a freak, and she loved to get high. I pretty much knew that already from the first time I met her.

So she ended up coming back to my place that night after the club. She was drunk as fuck and wanted some blow. I gave her a couple lines and opened a bottle of wine. They had white wine and white lines while I just stuck to the wine. Marie and I ended up fucking her until the sun came up. Christy was a real slut who loved to get high so that wasn’t the last time I ran into her at a bar or a club and took her home and fucked her. Sometimes I took her home without Marie and then there were times Marie would run into her out and about, and

Marie would go home with her and they would have sex. Christy was just a coke whore and a party girl who loved to get drunk, get high, and get fucked. Hell, when I met her she was in a committed relationship with this stud chick that looked manlier than me. Christy was a sneaky bitch, she used to think that I didn’t know about the times her and Marie would hook up without me but I knew. There were a lot of other reasons I didn’t trust her, though. She served her purpose. She was just for fucking and fun.

One time, this bitch Christy came over my house when my friends were throwing me a birthday party and my Indian homie, Shawn, wanted all of us to go to this massage parlor that was right next door to Kamal’s 21. We were all getting fucked up drinking and smoking weed and I had two ounces of blow on me I was going to sell one later that night to a friend of mine, and the other one was just for everyone to party with the entire day for my birthday. My uncle DL came by, he is not my real uncle, he is more like a family friend. But he reminds you of that drunk or crazy uncle that everyone has in their family. DL was funny as hell if he wasn’t too fucked up. The initials for his real name aren’t even DL though, he says D.L. stands for Delicious Love. When he introduces himself to someone he always says “My name is D.L. delicious love, a rich bitch fantasy and a poor bitches dream.” Dude was wild but he was there and he wanted some blow too, so I told him to go to the bathroom and it was two ounces of blow in the bathroom drawer in the back. I told him to get what he wanted out of the bag that was open. He walked back there then he yelled for me to come to the bathroom and told me to look, and that there was only one ounce of blow in there. At this point I think he is fucking with me. I’m thinking who in the fuck is dumb enough to take shit out of my house and, secondly, everybody is a suspect until I find my shit. I went in the living room and cut the music off and asked everybody did they see a bag of blow and out of the ten to twelve people that were there, nobody knew shit. So it’s dead silent in the house, and all you hear is the door locking. Then I see DL coming in with this old world-war-3-looking revolver, and he said loud as fuck, “Ain’t nobody leaving this bitch until we find this blow.” Out of nowhere, Christy’s shady-sneaky-ass pulls DL to the side and pulls the bag of blow out of her bra. That bitch was really going to steal my blow if we didn’t catch her. Shawn and a couple more of us headed to the massage pallor. I left DL in charge of the house with Christy and some more people who stayed there drinking and doing the rest of the blow I had left. I talked to my uncle later that night when I got home and he told me he fucked that bitch

Christy. He loves to talk shit, so I didn’t know if he was bullshitting or not so I asked him what the pussy looked like and he burst out laughing asking “what the fuck do you mean what did it look like?” He said “it looks like a pussy and she had a big mole on the side of her pussy lips.” Now he couldn’t have known that unless he had seen her pussy or fucked her. I believed DL fucked her, and I wasn’t shocked because she loves to fuck when she gets high on that coke. After that day I rarely fucked with Christy. I can’t have people around me I know I can’t trust. When people show you their true colors you have to cut them off especially in a game like this. You have to be very selective about the people you deal with. You never know who is a threat to your success or your freedom. So I was always wary about people that I met.

Chapter 6 “CADILLAC GONE”

I hadn’t seen DL since he was at my house for my birthday when I left him there with that lowlife Christy. He was at C-Mack’s house doing some painting and since C-Mack and I worked together, DL called me asking did I have any plans for the night. I told him I didn’t have shit to do. He starts going on this rant about how he has two bitches he’s trying to fuck tonight, and he needs to get some blow from me. I told his ass I wasn’t coming all the way to East Point to bring him any blow. He said, fuck, then come out here to C-Mack’s house so we can all kick it and you just bring some blow with you. I didn’t have plans so when CMack and I got off work I just rode to East Point with him. We picked up DL from the house and went to this ghetto-ass pool hall called Central Station. CMack and I used to always shoot pool, that’s how we first met. We’re in this ghetto-ass place just drinking and talking shit, looking at all the hood chicks in there so I asked DL what happened to the two hoes he said he was going to have tonight. He said he was waiting for their call, and they were going to meet him at the house. We played a couple more games of pool and had a couple more watered-down ass drinks before we decided to head back to C-Mack’s house.

We get back to Mack’s house and we started to drink some more while we were listening to some of DL’s lies. DL is a lying muthafucka for no reason, and everyone knows he is lying which just makes it more funny. We hear a ring at the doorbell, and DL says it’s for him. I’m thinking maybe his lying ass really got some hoes coming over. He brings the bitch into the kitchen, and it’s a stud, a hardcore lesbian chick. I’m looking at this bitch, and I’m like, I know her. This bitch was a lesbian in high school. She was in Mrs. Hood’s class with me in 11th grade English. As soon as he was saying her name, I was thinking her name in my head… “Morgan,” we both said it at the same time. She was like, “what’s up, my nigga?” I was like ain’t shit, she didn’t know who I was, but I knew exactly who she was. I was looking over at C-Mack, and he is looking over at me like, what the fuck. C-Mack says he is headed up stairs to go to bed. I went downstairs to the guest room and laid down. I told DL I didn’t know what his sick ass had up his sleeve, but I didn’t want any parts of it. He came downstairs and asked me did I bring the blow with me that he wanted. I gave him the blow

and a little while later I can tell they are smoking something. I didn’t really pay that much attention to it I just took my ass to sleep.

The next morning I get up early ‘cause I needed to get back downtown. I came out of the bedroom and I see DL asleep on the couch. I went to the steps and called Mack’s name, but I didn’t get a reply so I went outside to see if his car was there, but it wasn’t. It was gone. I walked back in the house and sat down in the kitchen. Then C-Mack walks in the kitchen. I said “Damn, shawty, I thought you were gone.” I told him I went outside and didn’t see his car so I thought you went golfing. He said, “Nigga, my car ain’t outside?” I said, “Nope, it’s not. Unless I’m tripping, shawty, your Cadillac gone.” C-Mack walks outside and sees that I wasn’t bullshitting and walks directly to DL asking, “DL, where the fuck is my car?” DL was asleep so he is waking up saying it’s outside. Then CMack asks, “Where is that bitch, Morgan that was over here last night?” DL is at a loss for words now, and C-Mack is ready to beat his ass. Come to find out DL and Morgan were up all night smoking that blow and snorting it. DL says the last thing he re is Morgan asking him to take her home and that she had to get home to her girlfriend. I guess since DL wouldn’t take her home when she was ready to leave, she just waited ‘til he went to sleep, grabbed C-Mack’s keys and stole his Cadillac.

Chapter 7 “PLUGGED IN”

I used to always see one of my neighbors around the complex and at the pizza spot. He would be moving around just as much as I was and at all hours of the day and night. Were we in the same business? I didn’t know. All I knew was he was too flashy for me, even if he wasn’t doing anything illegal. He drove this big Mercedes Benz with these big-ass rims on it, and he was always dressed really nice with a nice chain and watch. He was very clean cut. I would see him in ing all the time, and we would just give the head nod of acknowledgment and keep it moving. Then I ran into him at the pizza spot one day. We both had our MacBook’s out and I assumed we were both u the free Wi-Fi that the pizza spot had to offer. Somehow we ended up speaking and exchanging names, and then later exchanged numbers. He told me his name was Sean and he was from New York. I had pretty much gathered that because the Benz he was driving had New York plates. He told me he sees me around all the time and I replied by telling him the same. He started to inquire about all the sexy-ass white women he sees me with, and I laughed and told him the next time I saw him I would introduce him to a couple of them. He seemed to be very intrigued to know how I was always with a gang of white people that seem like they wouldn’t be involved with a cat like me. I got the feeling that he was trying to figure me out, and I was trying to figure him out also.

After a couple of more times of bumping into Sean he asked me if I smoked weed. I told him I did, but not too often. He told me if I ever needed some he could get me some high-grade weed. Ok, now I know he sells weed. Cool, I can work with that. I asked a couple of my neighbors who I saw him talking to, who he was and what he was about. In the streets we call this pulling his resume. We saw each other again in ing a couple of days later while I was walking Lola. We started talking, and I just told him to come up to my place so I can put Lola up and we could finish the conversation. I gave him my apartment number and just told him to meet me at my place in like five minutes. He came over; I made a drink. He wasn’t much of a drinker so we just talked. He begins to tell me that he brought some weed over just to show me the quality he had. I got a good vibe from homie, and I didn’t feel like he was no police, so I told him that I would

give him a call later and bring him over to introduce him to some of our neighbors. A lot of my neighbors smoked weed, and I didn’t mind introducing him to a couple of them so he could make some money. At this time I still haven’t told him I sold blow. I mean, I didn’t see the need to at the time. Cupcake was having a little get together at his house this same night with some of the usual suspects so I went there to have a couple of drinks and serve everyone the blow they wanted. Jen was there, Shelly was there, and another chick that I didn’t know, but she was a friend of Shelly’s. Everybody in here smoked a lot of weed and it just so happened they were looking to score some bud.

I texted Sean and told him to bring a couple of 8ths. It was perfect; he could meet all the neighbors and get to make him some new customers as well. Plus, he could meet some of the white girls he was seeing me with. He got there and I introduced him to everyone and he fit right in. They just were stoked that they had a weed connection in the building. Cupcake made a joke that he never had to leave the building because he had his weed guy and his coke guy in the same building, but Sean didn’t catch that he was talking about me and everyone just laughed. I saw that Sean had his eyes on Shelly, and he was flirting with her and making his moves. Nobody was shy that the new guy, Sean, was there so they broke out the plates and broke out the straws and turned the place into a party. Everybody was snorting blow and smoking weed. I saw Sean have a drink, but he wasn’t partaking in anything else. He was busy working on him a white woman. An hour or so ed and I see him and Shelly head out downstairs. I thought they were going to her house, but I found out the next day they went to Jen’s house and fucked in her bed. I thought that shit was funny as hell, but Jen didn’t think so. She was pissed at Shelly for a minute, but she got over it. Jen told me all of that at like seven in the morning when she came over my house for more blow. Apparently, they had been partying all night and they were still going. I wasn’t doing shit but sleeping before she woke me up, and now I can’t go back to sleep because Jen is in here talking the shit off of Marie’s ear as she is lying in the bed. She tells us we might as well come over to her house because everyone is over there drinking. I told her to give us like thirty minutes and we would come over. Whenever I would wake up with Marie next to me I would be instantly horny.

After Marie and I had sex in the shower we eventually made it over to Jens house. It’s like eight in the morning at this point. We walk into a conversation where Jen is trying to get everyone to go swimming. The problem was that the pool was locked, and the security guards don’t unlock the gate until ten. But they wanted to go swimming like right now. It wasn’t the worst decision I have ever made so I said, “fuck it, let’s do it.” We all jumped the gate and went swimming. You can see people heading out for work and we are all drunk and loud swimming at 8:30 in the damn morning. I could tell then it would be one of those days. We stayed in the pool for 30 minutes or so and we all go out and went in Jen’s house soaking wet because she stayed right by the pool. After we dried off we went to the liquor store for more booze and beer. About the time I get back to Jen’s I see Sean has made it back over there to in on the fuckery. I introduced him to Marie and a couple other people who showed up since the last time he was there. They wanted some more blow, so I ran to my house and came back. Sean knew then I was supplying all of the party favors. He now knew my secret, but this would only work out in my favor, I didn’t know then, but he would soon become my plug. I told Marie she could keep partying, and I told everyone bye because I needed a fucking nap. Sean walked out with me and we were talking and he told me he could get his hands on endless amounts of blow, but he didn’t have anyone to sell it to. I told him he could sell it to me. I hear people talk shit like that all the time so it went in one ear and out the other, but I entertained the conversation because you never know who is bullshitting and who is really about business.

A week or two had ed by before Sean showed up at my door unannounced. He was the paranoid type but in a good way. He didn’t take any chances with talking over the phone, because you never know if someone is listening or not, so it’s better to be safe than sorry. He came in and was looking around to see if I had any company or not. He walked right into the kitchen and started closing the blinds too. We sat at the table because at this point he still isn’t telling me what I owe this visit to. He whipped out two zip lock bags with an ounce of blow in each bag straight off somebody’s block of cocaine. He told me to check them out. I grabbed a plate and emptied the entire bag onto the plate. I knew it was what I needed because it sounded like marbles when it hit the plate. This is the only way I like to buy blow. I like it hard as glass, and I want it to look like crack. I want it to look like big-ass boulders and mini-mountains of blow. At this time I’m thinking to myself, damn, I have to do my taste test, get it on my

tongue and rub it on my gums. If it was the real deal I would be higher than a giraffe’s ass in a matter of minutes. This is what I would have to do when I didn’t have Marie or Chris around to tell me if the shit was any good. But it wasn’t good; it was out-fucking-standing. I’m thinking to myself, I love the way this cocaine smells, it smells like money and I know I can charge top dollar for this and wouldn’t hear any complaints. When someone brings you straight powder it’s no telling how many times it’s been cut. Hell, it’s no telling how many times it’s been cut before he got it. Not that it couldn’t have been cut when it’s hard like this but it’s not uncommon for people to buy one kilogram of cocaine and turn it into two. We call that “rerock” when someone takes one, adds some cut to it and makes two out of that one. A lot of times people put too much cut in there, and you get this weak-ass product we call touch and bust. As soon as you touch a rock of the cocaine, it just busts down to crumbs. Not saying that some of the touch and bust can’t be good, but it’s not normally what I want. Good coke or shitty coke, either way it’s going to sell. I love the better quality because I have quality customers who will pay the quality price because they know my shit won’t have them with nose bleeds, and when they get a bag from me it’s going to weigh what it’s supposed to weigh, or sometimes a little more. Now I would have some clients that would owe me money and still come score from me without fully repaying their last debt. I would intentionally short their bags a gram or two, and I’m sure they understood because they never complained.

Now back to the business at hand with Sean and the rocks of cocaine he just laid on my table. I know this is some good blow, but if the numbers don’t make sense then it’s no sense in doing business. I’m thinking to myself I’m getting the blow on the Southside from the cheapest $700 to maybe $900. There’s a lot of politics in the drug game and, for whatever reason, anytime there is an election year it becomes a shortage of cocaine; we all call this a drought and with the drought you know it’s a shortage of product, and the product is going to be sky high if you are able to get it at all. So lucky me, this is an election year and I have to pay these high-ass numbers for this blow all of a sudden. So whatever price Sean is going to charge me, I’m just going to have to pay because, he hand-delivers it to my house, so I’m not taking any risk. This really beats driving to the Southside and having to deal with De and them shady coons that’s in the area he’s trapping at. So Sean tells me $900 and I’m not even phased. I get up to get his $1800 bucks out of my stash and he tells me he will get it from me in a couple of days.

I’m like, “bro, you sure?” He told me I trust you, plus, I know where you live. We both laugh and I’m thinking to myself he has a very valid point. Also, I know where he lives with his girl and their child. You can sleep at night in this business when you know where the people you are doing business with rest their heads. Like he knew, and I knew nobody wants any problems when everybody knows where you stay. Even swap, ain’t no swindle because we both have shit to lose.

This come up just made my fucking day. I already had two ounces in my stash, plus the two I just got from him, so I was straight. That’s how our little agreement kept working. He would just come by unannounced and drop off two to four ounces at a time, and I would just give him his money from whatever I owe him from last time. Plus I would still buy two or three ounces from De on the Southside just for the hell of it. I didn’t ever want to run out. With Sean as my plug, it didn’t seem I was going to run out anytime soon. Sean was a family man who was working on a legit hustle in the music industry. He had his girl and their child, so he would always be chilling. If he was out and about it was something pertaining to music. I later found out that his brother was his connect, what we called the weight man. He was getting blocks and blocks of cocaine. He would give it to Sean for a little bit of nothing, which was cool with me. In this life, if you are not useful you are useless, everybody uses everybody. I needed a steady supply of quality cocaine. He needed to make some extra money without getting his hands dirty. Plain and simple we needed each other. It was a perfect business partnership. I was never late with his money; I don’t play with people’s money. In this business that shit will get you killed. Sean and I became really tight. It’s hard not to become ace boon coons with someone when you’re bringing someone two to three thousand dollars twice a week. Sometimes if I wasn’t home he would just drop off the product to Marie and I would let her know what monies to give him if he came by. We had a smooth-oiled machine. I once he dropped off a package right before his business trip to Miami. He was in a rush because he had a plane to catch, he told me it was four ounces but when I weighed it, it was five ounces. So when he got back in town and stopped by I gave him money for the five ounces. He waited till he got home and counted it and then he called me talking in code saying I overpaid him for the beer he brought over. I told him that’s how much beer he gave me. I guess he got with his brother and asked his brother how much he gave him, and his brother must have told him that he gave him five ounces because the next time he came

over he told me that was real solid that I didn’t try to rip him off. I would be stupid to shoot myself in the foot and fuck up this good thing I got going on over here.

The other good thing was, none of my neighbors who knew Sean had any idea he was my plug. Anytime he was at my house he blended in just like any one of my neighbors would. It would be so funny to see how people would just offer him blow. After awhile people would just assume if you were at my house you must get high. So I had to just tell Sean to do what I do and just say I’m already high enough, that’s the only way people wouldn’t keep asking or ing the plate of blow around to you.

Sean and his endless amount of blow made me the man. After a couple of months my life began to move so fast everything became a blur. My empire had expanded so far from The Carter it was crazy, but everything would end right back up at the Carter. I was sitting back thinking that just a couple of months ago, I didn’t even know an 8ball was 3.5 grams. I didn’t have a scale to even measure the first package of blow that I got from De. I went from two customers to damn near a hundred. I had hustled my way from an 8ball to a quarter kilograms of cocaine in just a matter of months. I now see how shit can get greater than you planned or expected but from the jump I didn’t have either. I just wanted to make a couple extra hundred bucks so I could have some extra money to party with. I was moving the work so fast that Sean said, “Damn, man, you gone be moving the whole brick soon,” and he was right. I had people come to me a couple of times trying to buy a whole block from me. I could have done that, but once you start selling blocks you are in another league, you are playing with the big boys. Around Atlanta people talk, and people know who is selling bricks. Even if I would have started buying the whole brick I would have still just broke it down to grams and 8balls. It’s crazy though, because I saw how cocaine just takes on a life of its own. I was realistic and knew I didn’t want to move heavy weight in the game. I just stayed in my own lane and kept doing my thing. I didn’t want to be a wholesaler, even though the opportunity was at my fingertips. I was cool with the life I created. Everything was running smooth and I was enjoying and finally living life like I wanted to. I didn’t just exist. I was living life every day and not just on the weekends or just the day I got paid.

I used to go mountain bike riding with a group of my friends before having to go to work at my regular job at 3 p.m. This particular day I met them in Woodstock, Georgia at our normal trail on Blankets Creek. I felt like shit that morning, but I still met them, I had partied all night with some bitches at this strip club in Decatur called Pin Ups. It was before noon, and I was the last one to complete the 3.5 loop on one of the smaller trails on the mountain. I finally get there and my buddies are sitting chatting with this guy, Bret, who we usually would see a couple times a week when we would go biking. I showed up and Bret, my buddies, and his friend are all laughing because they have heard how hung-over I am. I get there, and as soon as I throw the bike down I run behind a tree and just start calling earl. I can hear them laughing even harder as I’m spilling my guts. I finally get myself together and head toward the crowd that’s been laughing at me, and one of my buddies, Rah, ed me a beer and says, you know this is the best way to get over a hangover right? He was right, and I downed that cold-ass beer like it was no tomorrow. I sat down on the bench and Bret says, “Damn, bro, seems like you had way too much fun last night.” I laughed and said, “yeah, man, booze, strippers, and cocaine is always a bad combination.” Everyone laughed… Then Bret said, “Man, we have the beer right now. I can’t do the strippers because I’m married, but I could go for some cocaine any day,” and we all laughed again. I killed another beer, and I went in my backpack and gave Bret the gram of blow I had. Like I said, I rarely ever left home without any blow. He looked at me in disbelief that I just had that in my backpack, but was thankful for the gift I gave him. I didn’t know much about Bret other than he was married and was a doctor who had his own practice. The funny thing is, we never exchanged numbers, but from that day on, if he would see me out on the trails then he would ask if I had any more party favors, and he would just buy whatever I had on me whether it be a gram or an 8ball. Just like that I had a new customer, and that’s how randomly shit used to happen for me.

I had a lot of different parts of my life that didn’t involve around selling blow. I had all types of friends, so it’s no telling what I would be doing one day to the next day. Some of my hippie friends would call and just want to go up to the Jeju spa and just detox. Hell, the life I was living I needed a good detox every now and then. I would go, and we would just chill in the steam room and have random thought-provoking conversations about women, life, or business ideas.

These people had no clue about my drug dealer endeavors. I like that I had these righteous types of people in my life that were different from the regular everyday people. We would go to the main area and sit Indian style and just chill. I would look around and think damn these people are living life. Since it was an Asian spa it was mostly Asian people in there, and some of them had their whole families there. I would wonder what some of these people even did, because it could be a regular Tuesday in the middle of the day and the place is full. I could thinking, this is living life, doing what you want to do when you want to do it and having the money to do it. I wanted this life forever. I wanted to enjoy this life forever… Not the selling cocaine part, but the part of having the freedom and the funds to do what I wanted to do. Selling cocaine woke up that hustler’s spirit that my just-over-broke job had slowly put to sleep year by year that I allowed it to suck the life out of me. I was always on go. The more I hustled, the more money I started to make. I never quit my job, though; sometimes I would call out sick and stay out for like a month or two. I had this customer who was a doctor so he would write me doctor excuses if I ever needed them. Those are the good perks to selling blow, you have so many connections.

Chapter 8 “I DABBLE IN FUCKERY”

I had so many connections that my perks seemed endless. I had hook ups on clothes, when I go out, the bartenders would show me love and free meals at some of the best restaurants. The best perks had to have been all the pussy I was getting. My neighbor Cupcake, the recluse and I, really started to hangout hard. He introduced me to one of our neighbors named Alan. Alan use to DJ at Halo a couple times a week. I would see Alan all the time because he stayed directly next door to me. We would speak in ing but after Cupcake introduced us he would invite me to Halo all the time to come check him out DJing. Alan was of Spanish decent and had these really long finger nails and long black hair. He was heavy in the gothic scene. He looked like a fucking vampire, because he was always in black and dressed really creepy. He would always come by my house and ask me for weed or to score weed for him. I didn’t mind because when I would go to Halo he would introduce me to a lot of people and he would send me drinks.

Cupcake and I would go to Halo all the time, especially on Monday night for industry night. Halo was like my headquarters when it came to dealing blow. More than likely if I was going to Halo I was going with Cupcake. Cupcake would always be shocked every time I would randomly fuck some chick I met there in the bathroom. If we were sitting at the bar bullshitting or near the DJ booth by Alan and I disappeared, Cupcake would automatically assume I was fucking some chick in the bathroom. Most of the time I was, if you wanted blow and good blow you come find me at Halo on Monday nights. I was there one night and I saw the most beautiful Ethiopian girl I had ever seen. This bitch was bad. She was petite and had beautiful brown skin; she puts you in the mind frame of Jada Pinkett. She had some heels on with these tight cut up blue jeans, this crop top t-shirt that was showing off her flat stomach and belly ring. She had this sexy grungy look about her. An unbuttoned long sleeve flannel shirt was over her cropped t-shirt. She had that big long curly type fro that those Ethiopian girls be rocking. We started talking and I bought her a couple of drinks. She told me she was in there with her boyfriend and a couple more people. She pointed in the direction of her friends and boyfriend to show me where they were. I

introduced her to Cupcake and after that the funniest thing happened. She asked us did we “party” and me being a smart ass I tell her we are always looking to party. She asked me if I wanted to buy some blow from her. I was so intrigued at that point; I thought the shit was so cute. This little pretty ass woman is trying to sell me blow. I told her that I would buy some blow from her but it would probably be a waste of my money because I have the best blow in Midtown. She says “Really? You have the best blow in Midtown?” I’m like “yes I do.” She asked me if I wanted to go to the restroom and try some of her blow. I knew I wasn’t going to try any of her blow, but I wasn’t going to up the chance to have this chick alone. We grabbed our drinks and waited in line for an empty restroom. At Halo everyone would be either fucking or doing blow in the restrooms. The line would be longer than the drink line at the bar. I really do think the restrooms at Halo are more popular than the lounge itself. We finally get into a stall and she breaks out her blow. I looked at the bag and see all this grounded up powder, I stick my pinky in the bag and I tasted it and I tell her how shitty her blow is. Then I pull a gram of blow out from my pocket. When I show it to her, she says “why is it so rocky?” I told her “because I didn’t cut it.” I told her she could try some. She tells me that she doesn’t do any coke, and that she just sells it. I laugh because the both of us are trying to sell blow to a person that doesn’t do it. We both thought that was funny and I told her how sexy I thought she was and I just played along like I was going to buy some blow so I could come in here and flirt with her. She said “you did all that to flirt with me?” I said “yes” and we started to make out right there in the restroom. We started kissing all ionately and she asked if I had a rubber. I pulled out the rubber and placed it on the counter while trying to pull down my pants as fast as I could. She was pulling down her pants at the same time too. I tore the rubber packet open with my teeth and I roll it back on my hard cock. She was so petite that I held her up as she rode my cock. Her pussy was so wet that her pussy juice just ran down my leg as she was fucking me. She had her arms wrapped around my neck holding on while fucking me till the both of us came. This bitch pussy was so good I just had to eat it too. I turned around and placed her on the sink. I just started eating her out and she was moaning loud as hell and shaking uncontrollably. She had the biggest arch in her back as I was eating her out. While I’m eating her pussy she tells me to put a finger in her ass. I put my finger in her ass and she went crazy. She was reaching for things to grab as I was eating her wet ass pussy and she turned on the faucet to the sink. I don’t know if it was the finger in her ass or sound of the water, along with me eating her out that made her cum so hard. She came so hard that she was just started shaking and she had grabbed my head, begging me to stop eating her pussy. I was glad she

had come as hard as she did. Her pussy had my face looking like Santa Claus’s beard. She got her clothes on in a hurry saying she had to get back out to her boyfriend and her friends because she was sure they were looking for her. I told her to go ahead because I needed to clean all of her cum off my face anyway. When I finished taking my hoe bath in the sink I went out in the lounge looking for her. I see her and the guy she said was her boyfriend arguing by the exit door. I went back to the bar to where Cupcake was sitting. He says “Damn you have been gone a long time, you been in the bathroom fucking that hot chick haven’t you?” I had the biggest fucking smile on my face. He went on about how he is never that lucky, I told him that it wasn’t me the bitches liked, it’s the cocaine. I would run into that chick after that from time to time but she never gave me her number. She said she was trying to do right by her boyfriend and I couldn’t be mad at that. I just learned to enjoy all the random times and accept things for what they were.

I had this one chick that I knew from the good ole Slice days on Peters street. I just couldn’t understand this chick to save my life. She was a fag hag like Marie; she hung out in some of the same gay circles that Chris did. She was the eclectic artsy type, and a graduate of Spellman College. I used to always flirt with her back in the day when I saw her at Slice. I met her when she was really young and just started to hangout on the scenes. A couple years had gone by without me seeing her and she showed up at my house one night with Chris, this gay dude I called Miami and Miami’s best friend. They had come by to get some blow and I must it I was shocked to learn that Janette partied. It was good seeing her and she was looking good as hell. It was always good to see the dudes Janette was with. They were some real cool guys, gay as hell but they were cool as fuck. I had known them way before their careers took off so it would be cool when I saw them on TV or online in photos with celebrities. We were all just drinking and going down memory lane talking about how hard we use to party on Peters street before the area got super popular. Sitting there laughing and kicking it I couldn’t help but to notice how fine this bitch Janette has become. We flirted a little and we exchanged numbers before she left. I know she was getting my number so she could hit me up to get some blow on the regular. But I made it very clear to her before she left that I was trying to fuck. She hit me up the following Friday and said she wanted to come chill. She came over looking good and smelling even better, I was sure I was going to fuck. We had a couple glasses and wine while we watch the Dewey Cox movie Walk Hard. When the moving

went off she said she wanted to buy some blow so she could stay up and party with her friends later. I made a joke and told her the only way she was getting some blow from me was if she was going to snort the blow off my cock. I wasn’t serious at all but she was like ok. I would always tell her stories from guys saying how they had women snort blow off of their cocks but I had never experienced it myself. She really had called my bluff. I went in my stash to go get a bag of blow. I had it in my hand as I stood in front of her. She reached in my gym shorts and pulled out my dick. She started jacking and sucking it till it got hard. I sprinkled a line of blow of my dick and sure enough she snorted the whole line. Wow, for some reason that sick ass shit turned me all the way on. I put another line of blow on my dick and she snorted the shit clean off. I could have done that all day. The third line of blow I put on there she just licked it off my dick and went into giving me the best blow job of all time. I couldn’t believe that this little pretty bitch I had wanted all these years, is sitting here sucking my dick. I mean she was putting in work and she was nasty as fuck too. She was jacking and sucking my dick, slobbing and spitting on it and making all these noises. I came and she just swallowed it and kept sucking it. She finished her wine afterwards and told me she had to go as I sat there glued to the couch, I couldn’t move. I told her just to take the rest of the blow with her so she could party later. She went to the kitchen and grabbed her purse and phone off of the counter then she left. I didn’t even walk her out when she left; she had sucked the life out of me. When I finally got up to lock the door I saw she had left me money on the counter for the blow. I was in there like Marcus Graham from Boomerang. She had just mind fucked me, she sucked my dick, didn’t give me any pussy and paid for her blow. That was very interesting and would happen at least ten different times. She would just come over, pay for her blow and snort it off my dick but she never gave me any pussy. After a while I stopped trying to fuck her. I was convinced that maybe she had herpes on her pussy or saving herself for marriage. Maybe she had a boyfriend and she didn’t think giving head was cheating. I never asked her why we never had sex. I was just happy with the perks of getting money and head every time I saw her. This is the type of fuckery I was dabbling in.

Chapter 9 “DON’T LEAVE YOUR GIRLFRIEND AROUND ME”

I needed to meet my friend Carla for lunch on Peters Street at noon, but I couldn’t drink too much because I had to be at work at 3 p.m. We are sitting on the couch on the left when you walk into the bar and Carla had a couple more of her friends meet us so we were deep. We were just sitting there eating pizza and drinking beer and I’m facing the door when I see this fine-ass tall light-skinned woman walk in. Everybody’s head turned as she walks through the bar. She was just beautiful. She was looking as if she were searching for someone. She went back outside and got on the phone. She seemed to be upset with whoever she was on the phone with so when she came back in the bar, and I got up and invited her to sit with the group of people I was with. She decided to sit with us. Carla is the coolest lesbian ever, so she and I are both flirting with this chick. I don’t this fine-ass chick’s name to save my life, but Carla and I offered her a drink, and she says she was having a long day so she wanted a Patron margarita. She excused herself and went to the restroom, so while she was in the restroom, Carla and I are talking amongst ourselves trying to see which one of us was going to pull this bad-ass bitch. She got back to the couch just as the drinks got there. I got her drink, and I ordered two rounds of patron shots. We all toasted to random fuckery. After those shots I was reminded of how much I hated patron. We get to talking to this chick, and she starts telling us that the only reason she came up to the bar was to meet her boyfriend, but then he stood her up so that’s why she is pissed off. Come to find out her boyfriend is married, and he couldn’t get away from his wife like he originally planned so he stood her up. Carla starts telling the chick how familiar she looks. Carla swears she knows her from somewhere and then the chick starts telling us that she used to dance at Magic City up until a couple months ago when she met her so called boyfriend who is really her sugar daddy. The married guy was telling her he was going to leave his wife so they could be together, but he hadn’t done it yet, so that had her even more mad.

A couple minutes later she gets a call from her boyfriend asking if she was still at the bar, and she just hung up on him. I asked her did she just want to get out of there and go to another bar so she wouldn’t have to see him. She said yes, so I

told everyone we were about to head out and for her to follow Carla and me to Agave. Agave is a Mexican-style restaurant located in the Cabbage-town area of Atlanta. Since we were already drinking tequila is the reason I decided to go to Agave in the first place, they have over a hundred different types of tequila. We sat down and ordered a couple of Milagro silvers chilled. By this time I knew I wasn’t going to make it to work at three, so I stepped outside to call my boss and played sick and let him know I wasn’t going to make it to work. After I get off the phone lying to my boss, I go back in and talk to Carla and this chick. Carla starts telling me that this chick says she wants to party. I look at them bitches crazy and say,” party?” It’s a little too early to be talking about clubbing. Carla says nope she wants some of that white girl. I was like, oh really? I asked her was she serious, and she said yes. I had two grams in my wallet, so I gave her one and told her to go to the bathroom and get a couple bumps. At that point, Carla and I are saying how we are going to fuck this bitch. We are trying to see how long before we gone try to get her back to one of our houses. This chick comes back to the table, and I guess when she gets high on that blow she turns into Chatty Kathy. I mean she kept going on and on about her boyfriend, and how he didn’t appreciate her, and that she was too bad of a chick to be the side bitch anyway. I look over and Carla is rubbing this bitch’s breast. The chick begins to tell us that her boyfriend had bought her fake boobs about six months ago. I didn’t give a damn when he bought them, because they look like she was born with them. She started showing us her scars from where they healed. Now, it’s about five in the evening at this point, and this beautiful-ass woman is feeling good off tequila, and feeling even better off the cocaine, cause she is pulling her shirt up in this restaurant showing us her breasts.

Then she said some shit that really caught me off guard; she said she just wanted to feel wanted. I’m thinking to myself this has to be one of the most attractive women I have ever seen in my life, and she could have any man she wanted, I’m sure, but she was feeling rejected from this married guy. After that I made it my point to let her know I wanted her. Carla and I were both letting her know she was very wanted. But basically, she just wanted to talk about her boyfriend. That was fine as long as I could keep rubbing her titties, too, I didn’t care. Carla got a call from one of her female friends, and she had to go pick them up from work, so she had to leave. I told Carla if you leave now I’m going to fuck this bitch without you so don’t be calling me later. The chick said she needed to go home anyway and let her dog out, and that she wanted me to come with her. I was

pretty fucked up from all of the tequila, but I was still good enough to drive, at least I thought I was. Damn, she stayed in Union City, that’s like twenty to thirty minutes away from downtown, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me from getting that pussy. We finally get to her place in these new houses that were right behind Shannon Mall. She got in and grabbed her dog and took the puppy out for a walk. I was looking around her house just to make sure the coast was clear. I didn’t want any boyfriends jumping out behind doors or whatever. She came back in from walking her dog and said she needed a shower. But she wanted some more blow, she had run through that whole gram I gave her at Agave. So I gave her the other gram I had in my wallet and she went upstairs to take a shower. ‘Bout time she came back downstairs, I was half asleep on the couch. She apologized for taking too long. She said after her shower she got on the phone with her boyfriend. I didn’t give a damn how long she had been gone or who she had been on the phone with, because when she came back downstairs all she had on was a towel. I grabbed her and pulled her towards me, and told her how much I wanted her right then. She blushed and told me she didn’t believe me. I slowly untied the towel she had on and it dropped to the floor, this by far is the baddest bitch I had ever seen. She was ‘bout 5’9 very light complexioned; it was very easy to believe she used to work at Magic City because her body was perfect. I laid her on the couch and just started caressing her body, then I just started licking her clit slowly. You will not believe this shit. The whole time between her moaning and telling me not to stop she is still talking about her boyfriend. At this point it was fucking funny to me. She is going on and on about how she hopes he doesn’t find out, and how mad he would be if somebody were eating his pussy. I inserted two of my fingers into her pussy and began rubbing on her g-spot and that was about the only time she had shut the fuck up about her damn boyfriend the whole day. After she came I wanted her to ride my dick. As she was riding my dick and I’m thinking couldn’t believe I had lucked up on this pussy. She literally rode my dick to sleep. I came and ed out right on the couch. A couple hours later I woke up, and she was nowhere in sight. I saw the little puppy in its cage. I went upstairs to see if she was in her bed or in another room but nothing. She was gone. I’m sure she left and went to see her boyfriend. I put my clothes on and just locked the door behind me after I left. That was one of the best one-night stands ever. I never got her number the entire day while we were out drinking. I just driving home that morning like, damn that was wild. But that was the shit I was living for. I went home took a shower and texted Carla and told her what an epic night she missed.

I had shit to do today anyway so it was good that I called off from work yesterday. My life partner Marie had got a job out of town as a flight attendant and she was leaving on Friday for orientation that lasted six weeks. I didn’t want her to go, but she wanted to do that, so I couldn’t stand in her way. We had made plans to go to MJQ and the Clermont lounge and party real hard since she would be gone for a while. Marie, Chris and I were pre-gaming getting fucked at the crib before we went out. You never wanted to get to the club too early. We never did that. That was for people who were trying to get in before they started charging or whatever. I never paid to get in anyway, so it didn’t matter what time I was getting there. We finally made it and we went straight to the bar in the back room. I don’t dance, and I don’t like bumping into people in the crowds spilling my drink everywhere. So I always just chilled in the back, drank and talk shit to the bartender I knew. Marie and Chris went off to do what they were doing.

I ran into a couple of people I knew, so I bought them a couple of drinks and just posted up. Marie and Chris came back with this chick named Tammy that I used to fuck off and on. I met Tammy through some of Chris’s gay friends who always got blow from me. Tammy was a fag hag like Marie; she was always with a bunch of gay dudes. Tammy was crazy about Marie, too. She used to always ask me when we were we going to have a threesome. Whenever I saw Tammy out and Marie wasn’t with me she would always ask where my girlfriend was. I liked Tammy. She was a down-ass bitch. When I first met her she told me she had just gotten out of jail from being set up in a police sting. The shit was funny as fuck to me. She tells me she and her home girl were selling pussy on the Craig’s List want ads and an undercover police answered their ad, and they were pretty much fucked after that, literally. Now, after that story, I was a big fan of hers. Most people have a hard time being honest about who they are, and she had no problem being honest about who she was and her past. I was down with that. I’m always going to respect someone who is honest with me about who they are.

All of them, Chris, Tammy, and Marie wanted to do some blow so we all piled in the bathroom like we normally do and just started partying. I’m just drinking and laughing at Tammy because she is telling Marie and Chris some wild shit I did

when she and I went out one time. Marie and Chris just shook their heads and said they weren’t shocked. We ended up leaving Tammy at MJQ. But before we left, Tammy told me to call her tomorrow because she wanted me to stop by. I already knew why she wanted me to come over the next day, either to fuck her or bring her some blow, but it was usually for both. The next morning I was up early because Marie had gotten up early so she could head home and get ready to prepare for the following day, when she had to head out of town for flight attendant training. After Marie left I wasn’t doing shit when I received a text from Tammy asking me was I still coming by. I really didn’t have anything to do, so I went over there and fucked her. It always costs me some sort of money when I go see her. If I could get out of there without coming out the pocket for something I would be pleased. Tammy was a hustler, and she always sent me customers, so I didn’t really mind tricking off on her when she needed me to. I forget why she said she needed fifty dollars, but somehow she got fifty bucks out of me, and a little less than a gram of blow, so let’s say this visit to her house cost me an easy hundred dollars. While I was there Sean had texted me and asked me where I was. I replied, asking did I need to be at home. He replied “Yeah, I’m headed to New York in the morning.” So I really just gave Tammy whatever that she wanted so I could get out of her damn house, because she was talking my ear off about how she needed to get her life together. So really Sean hitting me up was perfect timing. I had been ready to get out of there after I had busted my nut anyway. I got back to the house and Sean meets me at my front door. He comes in and tells me he will be in New York for a couple of days doing some music shit, and wanted to bring me the four ounces he had just in case I needed them. That was cool, plus, I been trying to get in touch with him so he could get the money I had been holding for him. He didn’t stay long; he was in and out. I went to put the blow up in my closet but the bad thing about when I do that is that I’m usually drunk, and my intentions would be that I am putting things in a safe place, but sometimes I end up hiding cocaine or money from myself. This day when I went to put these four ounces up in a pocket of a jacket I had hanging up, I end up finding an ounce in that same pocket. Now I knew I had about twenty-one grams in the kitchen drawer that was next to the refrigerator. Two ounces in a shoebox, and the four ounces I just got from Sean. This one I just found is a plus so that’s all extra money to me because there is no telling how long it’s been in there. And, either way, I wasn’t missing it. So I already knew I was going to probably party with the twenty-one grams I had and just sell the other seven. I was overdue for a customer appreciation day anyway. My customers really enjoyed those random times when I invite them over and tell them to have fun and that everything was on me tonight. I just call that good

customer service. Later that night I call up the usual suspects and told them to come over my house and bring some beer or some liquor. I had Chris there, Shane, and Jen. Cupcake and even Shane’s fine-ass girlfriend, Pamela, stopped by for a second. Leah and her weird-ass boyfriend, Mike, were there too. I just put those twenty-one grams of blow on a white plate and let them enjoy their buffet. You think free food at a black cook-out goes fast, but free blow at white people’s parties go just as fast. I will say, whites understand the concept of never coming over empty handed. Everyone brought either beer or liquor. I was double fisting most of the night drinking Miller High Life beer and whiskey when I got a call from this girl I started dating a couple weeks before. She was this prettyass bartender and I loved everything about her, and we had a lot in common except she was a sports fanatic, and I didn’t even watch sports at all. Hell, most of the time I didn’t even know what season it was but I really had a thing for this chick. Rhonda was her name. I first seeing her at Fox sports grill in Atlantic Station; she had these tight ass blue jeans on and this Dallas Cowboys jersey. I had gone there to meet some friends who were also Dallas cowboy fans. When I first saw her I wanted to know her. I saw her a couple more times that night, but I didn’t have the balls to even speak to her, because I could tell she was really into the game, and I couldn’t bullshit and strike up a conversation about the game because I didn’t have the slightest clue of what was going on. I eventually ran into Rhonda at another bar and that’s when I found out she was a bartender. She worked with a friend of mine and he introduced us and I quickly made that my favorite bar so I could just go in and flirt with her and try to get to know her.

After a couple of weeks she agreed to let me take her to dinner. We hit it off at dinner and over the past couple of weeks, we would meet for drinks or lunch. Just sitting across the table from this woman had me wanting to marry her. She had this beautiful smile and the whitest teeth I have ever seen; I mean her fucking mouth was beautiful. Down to earth intelligent, she was the type of woman you wanted to bring home to your mother and didn’t mind if she hung out with you and the fellas talking shit.

So let me get back to that night when she called, and I should have told her that I would get with her another night, but I was kind of drunk and I was definitely in

douche bag mode. In my drunken state I was thinking I like this girl so damn much, but I’m not being completely honest with her about the fuckery I’m into when she is not around. I’m sure it was a way better way of telling her or showing her but I was about to recreate a classic episode of when keeping it real goes wrong. What a dumb ass move I made. She calls from the call box, I buzz her up and go meet her at the elevator. I’m trying to hold back on how sprung and into her I am as I am looking at her while walking toward her. I tell her as we are walking to my place that I have a couple of my neighbors over and they are partying and having some drinks… She comes in and sees all of these people in there doing cocaine; Jen is in there half naked in stripper clothes. Rhonda looks at me and immediately says, “I don’t know what you have going on, but I am not with this shit” and storms out. I walk out behind her and I’m trying to tell her to chill and it’s not that serious. My dumb ass is laughing to myself as she is walking away. I’m thinking, damn, I knew she wouldn’t understand, but the next day after I woke up out of my drunken slumber I couldn’t believe how much of an asshole I was to Rhonda. Man, that liquor ain’t nobody’s friend. I know we all do some dumb shit when we are drunk, but, damn, that has to be the stupidest shit I have ever done in life. I really pushed a good woman out of my life due to my fuckery. At that point I could honestly say that my life was in fucking shambles. Cocaine dealing really impacted my dating life in a real negative way. I mean, honestly, what normal, good, regular woman would put up with this bullshit or even understand? I mean, she didn’t do drugs, and I know she didn’t want to deal with someone who was dealing drugs.

After awhile we became friends again, but we never dated again after that. Every time I see her out with her man I think to myself two things. Damn, I really fucked that up, and, damn, he has a good woman. I have mastered the art of this crash and burn relationship thing. I was torn between the two worlds, the two extremes. On the one hand, I could have all the party girls who did blow, and all the party drugs, but that would lead to only two things “Cocaine and Cumstains” because they wanted to party, and I wanted to fuck, but you can’t build a meaningful relationship on that bullshit. Then, the other thing was dating regular women who were vanilla to the life. I mean, I could be all into them and everything, but once they found out about my extracurricular activities they would be out anyway. So what was I to do? Love doesn’t pay any bills so I was going to follow the money and continue my fuckery. Because I believe that if you can’t have love, you might as well have fun, and I was having a bunch of

fun.

Chapter 10 “FAMILY TIES”

No time for love and back on my grind I received a call from my cousin Blaine from Pascagoula, MS saying he would be in Atlanta the coming weekend and he wanted to stop by. I was excited to hear from Blaine. I hadn’t seen him in a couple years. Coming up, Blaine was like what we would call an “Original Gangsta” and my younger cousins and I always looked up to him. He was wild as hell and always down for some fuckery. We hadn’t spent much time together as adults, so I was glad to open up my home to him and catch up. He had got there on a Friday evening, rented a hotel in the Techwood area, and that was right down the street from me. I went to pick him up and man it was so good seeing him. This muthafucka is crazy for real, and his energy was always electric; you just had to have a good time when you were with Blaine. Dude was tripping because of how close I stayed from his hotel. I pulled in the parking garage of my building and he was like, “Damn, cuz, where you taking me?” I started laughing and told him, “Cuz, this is where I live.” He seemed to be taken aback about the place. He said it looked like some resort shit. I agreed, and told him it does, but these are lofts. I broke down what lofts were as we walked across the catwalk looking down on the pool. He was happy I was doing well. I had my homeboy C-Mack at the house also. We were all chilling and drinking and I asked Blaine did he still fuck with that white girl. He said, “Why? You got some?” I went in the cabinet and pulled out a plate that had an ounce of blow that was a big-ass rock. He said, “Man, cuz, what do you got going on here?” I said, “Man, you see what the fuck I got going on here.” C-Mack was like me, he didn’t do any blow; all he would do is drink. So C-Mack is laughing like, man, you ‘bout to get your cousin in trouble.” Blaine had told us he couldn’t party too long because his wife was at the hotel, and he told her he wouldn’t be out too late. Blaine used a razor to chip off some blow of that massive boulder I had. He crushed it up and made a couple lines. He snorted two lines and instantly got lockjaw. C-Mack and I were dying laughing. Blaine has this thing; when he gets high you can barely hear what he says. He looks at me and says, “Damn, cuz, I didn’t know you were up here doing it like this.” He told me that our other cousin Fred used to always tell me he needed to come visit me. Blaine was amazed at how good and clean the blow was, and said how good it would do on the gulf coast. He said the shit I had was so good you could cut it two times and it would still be better than the shit that they had down there. After a couple

more drinks and a couple more lines Blaine had decided it was time for him to get back to the hotel to his wife before he got himself in some trouble. I gave him a couple grams and dropped him back off at the hotel. He looked at me after he got out of the car and said, “Keep balling, cuz.”

It wasn’t a week later I got a call from another one of my cousins named Snook from the coast. He was staying in Montgomery, Alabama at the time. I wasn’t sure how the word got back to him about the blow I had but I’d bet Blaine let him or Fred know. He came to see me and I let them know what I had going on. So that’s probably how that went. Snook said, “I need to come holler at you and get something.” Told me he and some white guy he knows are coming up and they needed to a large amount of blow. He says the white guy has all this money. I said, man, just come to my house I’m not ‘bout to talk to you over the phone. I told Snook to just call me when he got to Atlanta. I honestly didn’t think he was coming; I was going to have to meet him out somewhere. I wasn’t giving my address out over the damn phone. I meet him and this dude and I bring them back to the house. Now here comes the bullshit. All this money this dude supposedly had disappeared from their ride to Atlanta from Montgomery. I didn’t have time to bullshit with them, so I told them they could have as many ounces as they wanted, but it would be a thousand dollars apiece, and that’s what I was getting them for at the time. Before we started discussing numbers I let them try the product. I already knew they were going to say it was good, that was a given. Now I look to them both and ask them how many they wanted. These two coons are looking at each other stuttering and shit and Snook says, “Man, we only have six hundred bucks.” Now I’m thinking to myself damn this nigga has really wasted my time. I call myself doing him a favor and selling him stuff I could be selling myself. He tells me just to give him $600 worth. I let him know how that didn’t make any fucking sense. If I was to break down an ounce I was going to break it down to twenty-eight grams and I was going to sell them for sixty bucks apiece. So now he is wasting both of our time. I’m thinking like, damn, Snook always is bullshitting, he swears he is this hustler and I have never seen any proof. Why would he tell me he had the money for the shit then drive over two hours just to bullshit me? At this point I’m disgusted and, against my better judgment, I tell him to just take the ounce and give me the $600 he had and as soon as he sells $400 worth just western union me my money. I was peeping game the whole time just checking him out and the white guy he is with. I pieced the real story together in my head as I was looking at them.

The real story went something like this. The money belonged to the white guy, who had no intentions of scoring some blow to sell. Snook was probably telling him that he had the hook up on some blow for cheap. He probably had the intentions of using the dude up for his blow, and get over on him some other way. Now if Snook had any hustle in him at all, he could have given the white boy 14 grams for that $600 and kept the other 14 grams to come up on. He could have put a nice cut on the blow and sold the shit and still would have been able to give me my $400 and keep $500 to himself. But what did he do? He fucked it up; he could fuck up a wet dream. I called him after two days and asked him what was up with my money. He just started making all type of excuses. That is why you don’t do business with family. I had given him the benefit of the doubt because I was hoping he was going to do the right thing. But he decided to go the junkie route and just get high. He burned that bridge, and he knows he can’t ever get anything from me in life. I was trying to do business, but he wanted to bullshit me out of $400. I could have bought me a pair of loafers with that money but I gambled on a junkie. But I’m not going to cry over spilt milk; in another month I will be in Panama tanning on the beach and drinking beer, and Snook will be wishing he had not fucked with my money. At this point I’m sick of dealing with these coons and I’m overdue for a vacation. I hope my cousin Tondree is ready for my visit to Panama because I know I am.

Chapter 11 “WHITE POWDER DREAMS”

Tondree… Tondree is the son of my mother’s only brother. His mother died when he was young and his father; my uncle was an alcoholic so he wasn’t fit to raise him therefore his uncle in Florida raised him. I don’t him as a child, but I do seeing photos of him, and every blue moon he would call to say hello to my grandma and cousin Ericka. Before my sister ed she found him through a Google search on the Internet and reached out to him. He was still living in Florida, so he planned a trip up here to reconnect with the family. He seemed to be real cool and square, but I didn’t care he was still family so I made sure to show him a good time while he was here in Atlanta. He reminded me of the character Dave Chappelle played once named Tyrone Biggims on the Chappelle show. He smoked enormous amounts of weed and he drank, too, so I could dig that. He would be what most black people would call a black white boy, proper or preppy. I would just say you could tell he wasn’t raised around any street niggaz. I don’t think he really knew he was black, but that’s because I don’t think he was raised around any black people other than his Uncle. At the time he came to visit he was dating this beautiful Dominican girl and she was very cool. Since we hit it off I told him the next time I was in Miami I would come to Ft. Lauderdale where he was living to visit and hangout with him. Growing up in Atlanta, we didn’t have a beach, so we used to treat Miami like it was a back yard because it was less than an hour’s flight away. I would go there all the time. Some friends of mine had a crash pad in Bay Point, and some other guys I grew up with had a vacation home in the South Beach area of Miami on Euclid. I let Tondree know I would be in Miami in a couple of weeks, and I would hit him up when I got into town.

When I finally made it down to visit, my assumption was totally correct. He didn’t have any black friends nor do I think he knew any black people other than his girlfriend, but hell, she was Dominican, but that was the only other person of color that I saw. He stayed right about five minutes from Las Olas beach in a duplex off of A1A and Sunrise which he shared with his roommate, Ryan, and their other friend, Matt, who was sleeping on the couch. Matt was really cool and crazy; he looked just like buzz light-year. He drank like a fish, and he had

just married this Colombian girl so she could get a green card. She paid him, I think, ten grand. I was thinking, Damn does she have any cousins I would marry anyone for ten grand. I met her at a party one of their friends was having, and that’s the same party I did my first keg stand. Damn white people sure know how to party. After talking to Dre for a while I could tell he was well traveled and very intelligent. From what I can he went to school in Jamaica, and he went to school in Mexico for a while. He was kind of corky; he also had some strange and funny ways that I wouldn’t discover until much later after I really got to know him. But overall he seemed like a cool guy. Over the years I would visit him quite often because I would travel to Miami all the time and “Ft. Liquordale” is only like twenty minutes from there. I would meet him and some of his friends at the Elbow Room on Las Olas and get white boy wasted. I could tell Dre and I lived totally different lives. When I get to know people I can tell a lot about them from their friends, and what I could tell about Dre so far is that he never had any friends that he grew up with around him, and I never heard anything about any of them visiting. It was interesting, but it didn’t really raise a red flag at the time. He wasn’t from Ft. Lauderdale so that could be the reason. When my sister was murdered he drove all the way from south Florida to Birmingham and that meant a lot to me. He was able to see a lot of the family that hadn’t seen him since he was a child, and meet a lot of family he had never met before. After the funeral we all left Birmingham and he stopped at my house in Atlanta, and we partied and got fucked up together. We were sitting at my house just drinking and smoking and he asked me had I ever been skiing. I laughed and said, “hell no, you know black people don’t ski, nigga.” But I was down for anything. We decided to plan a ski trip around Christmas time to Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

Four months had flown by and it was time to take that ski trip. Dre drove back up to Atlanta, picked me up, and we were off to the mountains. I was riding shotgun so I was drinking from the time I got into the car until the time we got out. We were smoking weed in the Smokey Mountains… The scenery was just beautiful and breathtaking. We finally made it there and checked into our shitty hotel. We threw our bags down and hit the strip. I saw a bar called Hogs and Honey’s, and I just had to go in. I could immediately tell there were very few black people in these parts, but it was cool. White people seemed to be very happy to see some color around the place because all they wanted to do was talk shit and buy us drinks. I was down with that because that’s what I do best, is talk

shit and drink. By the end of the night we had made some new friends. A lot of them found it funny that I had never been skiing before and vowed to show me how to ski the next day. Dre and I met up with our three new friends on the slopes first thing the next morning. I was high as hell because we were smoking before we left the hotel. Now normally the proper procedure is to take the beginner’s course if you haven’t skied before, but I said fuck that shit and just went balls to the wall. Everyone was trying to give me pointers, but I told them just show me how to stop and I would be good. I literally fell and bust my ass like fifty times before I got the hang of it. Garage sale after garage sale, for those of you that don’t know what a garage sale is… Basically, it’s when you bust your ass going down the slopes and you look back up and you see your poles, gloves, ski’s, etc. or whatever you lost in the process of tumbling down the slopes. The walk of shame is having to go back up and collect everything you lost. That was a very interesting trip. I learned a lot, and it was good bonding experience for Tondree and I.

Chapter 12 “STAMPS ON MY PORT”

About a year ed and Dre, his roommate Matt, and Matt’s wife moved to Central America to the country of Panama. He used to email me or skype telling me, how cheap the country was and how beautiful the women were. At that point in my life I had a huge secret that I wasn’t sharing with too many people. I was so busy selling blow, I wasn’t even thinking of a vacation. I kept blowing them off about me coming to visit, because I was just as much addicted to serving my clients as much as they were copping from me. I will never forget one of my customers told me, “Man, you are too accessible, and I feel too safe here. He said he didn’t feel like we was doing anything illegal because he was coming to this luxury loft apartment where most of his friends stayed, copping from a guy that wasn’t sketchy, wasn’t in a shady alley, and, in his own words, was cool as hell. I was making so much money, and I wasn’t spending it on material items, since I lived with the majority of the people I was selling to. I didn’t want to make any obvious purchases, because I didn’t want people to feel as though their money was buying me all these nice things. I wanted to seem as much like them as possible. Since I wasn’t a boastful person, it was not hard for me to blend in with them. If I did it right they wouldn’t even think like that. The last thing I needed was for one of them to get jealous and drop a dime on me for any reason. So I had the same 1992 Volvo 240 that worked when it wanted to work that I got from my neighbor Shane. . Damn, I loved that car (which I guess is a good thing the police hated it) because they never stopped me in it. At any given time I would have $1000 to $10,000 of cocaine in there and I had a taillight that was always out.

So my ex-girlfriend who spoke like five languages used to always ask about Dre, and when I told her he had moved to Panama she automatically said we had to go visit him. So she convinced me to go. With it being cold as hell in Atlanta in December it didn’t take me much convincing to be honest. We get to the Atlanta Airport and we are going through the security check point, my carry-on bag goes through the scanner and bingo my bag draws a red flag and had to be pulled off to be searched. All kinds of thoughts are going through my mind at this point. I’m like, Damn, I know I don’t have any drugs or knives in there. Cynthia is

looking at me like damn, what kind of foolery do you have going on. The TSA lady looks through my bag then looks up at me and just starts shaking her head. I looked down in the bag with a sigh of relief when I noticed it was just the 100 magnum condoms I had in my bag. I had bought two family-sized boxes. For fuck sakes, I was going to Panama, and if it is anything like Matt and Dre had been telling me, I was going to be fucking like a porn star so I just wanted to be prepared. Cynthia looked so embarrassed, but I thought it was funny as hell and so did the TSA lady. She told us to have a safe trip and we were on our way. I mean, really, who doesn’t take a bag full of condoms when they are going on an international whorehouse tour. We landed in Panama around 8pm and the weather was great. We left the airport and headed to the house and it was a very nice, three bedroom, two baths and a nice patio to chill on. When my cousin told me they were only paying $500 dollars a month I was in love. We got settled in and immediately made plans to hit the town. Me, Dre, Cynthia, and Matt loaded up in a cab and headed for the city. Now all these fuckers spoke Spanish, and I’m the only uncultured coon that didn’t speak a lick of Spanish. Towards the end of the night the fellas stated they wanted to go to something that was similar to the strip club but in this place, anything goes; they would be stripping and legally selling pussy. Now believe you me I was down, but I was more concerned about how Cynthia would feel. With us being from Atlanta, strip clubs are a common thing, and when Cynthia and I dated she used to go to the strip club with me all the time. Once I told Cynthia what was up, and she stated she was down. I knew it was going to be a long night. Now keep in mind that NO straight woman who didn’t work there had ever been in this whorehouse before. The door guy wasn’t having it at first. He was not going to let Cynthia in. After twenty minutes of convincing him I was some sort of important American who was about to come in here, fuck a lot of bitches and spend a lot of money, we also had to tell him that Cynthia was my interpreter, since I didn’t speak Spanish. After all of that talking and having to give him a very nice tip, we finally got into this whorehouse. It was fucking insane. Now if you have ever been to Atlanta and been to Magic City it was just like walking into Magic City on a Monday night and being able to fuck any woman you wanted to for thirty to fifty dollars. Those women that were like sixes and below were like twenty five to thirty dollars. Now keep in mind we are in Panama, the cocaine capital of the world, next to Colombia, and the women here really love to “Party.” An 8ball of pure cocaine was like twenty-seven dollars, a shitty gram that was still like ten times better than the stuff in the states was like five dollars. Hell, a kilogram of coke was anywhere from $1500 to $1900 bucks. Shit, I wish I owned a boat or a plane is all I was thinking at the time.

So we go to the bar and have a couple drinks and I’m trying to take all of this new shit in at once. Women were everywhere, pretty ones, ugly ones, short ones, and tall ones… You name it they had them in there. Whatever your type was, it was in this place. Cynthia was cool; she was sitting at the bar drinking, talking to some of the guys and women in there. At one point I needed her to translate to some of the women who I was trying to fuck. Dre and Matt were off doing their thing, so I needed Cynthia to negotiate the prices for me in Spanish. I ended up banging like five chicks in there before the night was over.

My absolute favorite chica was this beautiful short negra chica from Cali, Colombia. She was my type all the way. Beautiful face, nice smile, and her ass and her breast were to die for. She was about 5ft tall too; by now you know I love those short compact women. After I finished my drink, she grabs my hand and guides me to the upper lever. As I’m following her up the steps I couldn’t help but to look at her sexy chocolate skin and nice ass thinking of all the devilish things I wanted to do to her. The steps led to these small single rooms that you have to rent for five dollars, and I think it was five dollars for thirty minutes. I paid thirty for her and five for the room, and that’s a hell of a deal on any day. As we are walking to the room I’m just looking around at all of these beautiful women walking in and out of the rooms with other guys who had that deer in the headlights look that I’m sure I had on my face. I was thinking to myself, Damn, I’m going to fuck her next, or maybe her, or maybe that one that looks like she is from Brazil. I was like a kid in a candy store. I was happier than a punk in prison. We get into our room and these prostitutes are very clean, they shower before and after sex and they also make you shower. She pulls out this tiny cheap-looking condom and I’m like, “Mida no gracias” and I pulled out my magnum condom in the gold pack and she gave me the thumbs up sign. Her sex appeal was so addictive. It was the combination of the booze and debauchery that I was dabbling in that had me so gone. We started having sex and she started talking to me in Spanish I was so turned on I had no desire in coming until I punished this li’l chica. She could have been saying hurry up and cum, asshole, but it sounded good to me ‘cause I had no clue what she was saying. I bent her over the bed and I started fucking her from the back slowly while I was pulling her hair, then I started pounding her pretty pink pussy and she is yelling in Spanish “suave papi, suave papi suave papi… pringa mucho grande” At the time

I had no clue what she was saying, but now I know she was basically saying take it easy stop pounding my pussy. Now if you haven’t been to a whorehouse before, or even been with a prostitute before, the rules are that you are paying for one nut and anything extra is going to cost more. Her name was Maria, well at least that’s what she told me her name was, but she was so pretty and chocolate and she could fuck. I mean she was fucking me like she was really into me, like she wasn’t getting paid for it. That’s when you know you have a good hooker, even if she was acting, she was damn good at her job and I was happy with my lease. I always say lease because you can never own some pussy. When your lease is up with one, you just lease you another one.

After we finished fucking like we were on our honeymoon, we both showered up and went back downstairs to the bar. I ran into Matt and he had these two Spanish chicks with him and they had just scored some blow. I have no clue if we went into the bathroom or a secret room with these two chicks. Hell, all I know it was the damn janitor’s room. We were in the small-ass closet with a blue light; they broke out the blow and started sniffing like a drug dog. I always tasted cocaine before I bought it, so being in Panama I just had to taste this blow for the hell of it. This coke was so fucking pretty you could see the blue crystals on it. I tasted a bit of it and poured a little more in my hand and I ate that shit like it was pixie dust. The girls were just laughing at me like I was crazy because I had just eaten like a half a gram of blow. It wasn’t two minutes later, I mean instantly that my mouth was numb, and I was higher than a giraffe’s ass. After that everything was a blur. I know by the end of the night I ended up having sex with five or six of the most beautiful women I had ever seen. Well, I take that back, one of them was ugly as hell, but she had the body of a goddess and a face from hell syndrome. I believe in my heart she was sent to earth just to fuck. We stumbled out of that place like almost nine in the morning fucked up, blasted, wasted, or whatever word you used to describe being drunk out of your mind. By the end of the night I think I ate two grams of blow, I was high as fuck, and next we headed to the fresh market to get some fresh ceviche. I heard it was good for hangovers and it kept your cock hard. I wasn’t sure if it really did, but it was good as hell and fresh, I was now a fan of ceviche and would have to have it after every long night out while I was in Panama.

After my third or fourth day there I could actually relax, I had fucked so much my cock was sore, so all I wanted to do was chill and enjoy just not doing nothing, not having to be anywhere, not dealing with customers calling my phone. I was just really having some me time. I would smoke some of this shitty Panamanian weed and drink Ice-cold Panama beer that I know wasn’t even 50 cent apiece, US. I would just sit in that hammock and chill. I forgot how relaxing reading a book could be. I would read for a bit, then sleep, and I repeated that for most of the day. Later that night me, Matt, Dre and Cynthia caught a cab downtown to enjoy some Panama nightlife. Dre wanted some weed. He was a real pothead, and I was on vacation so I was going to partake, too. So what do you do when you are in a foreign country and don’t have a weed man? You just walk up to the shadiest looking person you see and ask them where the weed at? The tricky part is you have to hope they speak English. So we met this guy who said he would take me to get some weed. Everyone else was like, fuck no, we are not going anywhere with this guy. I was like, fuck it man, let’s roll. I jumped in the car with this guy and his buddy. I don’t speak a lick of Spanish and they were talking and laughing and shit while I’m just checking out the sights and hoping these niggaz don’t kill me. We drove like twenty minutes till we ended up down from this old army base or navy base. All I know is we were in the fucking hood, or the slum, I knew it was the bad part of town for sure. I think it was called El Terio. It looked like some of the projects in New Orleans, but they had armed military walking the streets with AK-47’s and that’s when I knew I was in the slum. The guy told me to wait in the car while he went and got the weed. After fifteen minutes I go looking for the guy trying to see if he had run off with my twenty dollars. I walked around to the courtyard and saw like fifty hood-ass Panamanians just chilling, they were grabbling and drinking. They seen me and was looking like they just knew I wasn’t from ‘round there. The guy who I was riding with rushes towards me, cursing me out, telling me how he told me not to get out the car. He had me shook for a second but then I start yelling at him telling him, “Motherfucker, you were taking too long” not a smart move at all, but we finally made it back with the weed like forty five minutes later. When I told Dre and Matt where he took me to they were looking like they seen a ghost. They couldn’t believe that I went to that hood to get the weed. They said I was crazy and how people from Panama don’t even go there.

We got back to the house and we started to cook dinner. When I used to visit Dre and Matt in South Florida I would always cook. So they wanted me to cook for

them there and I love cooking so it wasn’t a problem. I made some of my famous fried chicken with some Spanish seasonings, rice, beans, and sweet plantains for the sides. Matt’s wife, Ale, really loved the Spanish/Soul food fusion I had put together. Everyone was full as a tick. Cynthia went to take a nap, and so did Matt and his wife. Dre and I went to the patio to smoke some weed and drink more beer. I was sitting there just smoking and in a daze. I couldn’t wrap my mind around that the price of a kilo of cocaine was so cheap here. I mean, like I know it comes from here, but damn, under two thousand dollars for a kilo is insane to me. So I started probing Dre to see if he had any connects on cocaine. I mean he is from south Florida, the cocaine capital of the United States, and he is living in Panama and he does blow all the time, so he should have some sort of insight or at least a connection. Plus, he and Matt are working in Panama at the docks doing boat tours for this small company. These cats are surrounded with people with boats, and I know everyone down there is not an up-standing citizen. Hell, all I’m thinking is, at the time in the states a brick of blow is well over twentyfive grand. I just wanted to get a connection where I could get a brick for twenty grand apiece or cheaper. I would buy two bricks and just sell nothing but grams and 8balls out of it. After wasting thirty minutes of my life probing the shit out of Dre, he brought me back to reality with one simple question. “Damn, cuz, are you trying to get locked up abroad?” I had seen that show a dozen times, and it was always some dumb Americans trying to smuggle drugs out of the country and they get stuck in some horrible foreign jail. Yeah, I didn’t want to end up like those guys, so I quickly forgot about that bright idea. Dre said, “Damn, cuz I could really tell you were really serious about trying to get some drugs back to the states.” We laughed and I told him I was dead-ass serious. That conversation led to our next conversation.

I started telling Dre how I was living in Atlanta and how crazy shit was for me the last couple of months. I gave him a little insight on my Atlanta operation. I told him about the loft community I was staying in and how it was like Melrose place, but everyone was doing blow. Told him I was selling a couple grams on the side, but nothing major and that I never knew how horny and crazy cocaine made women. We spoke briefly about my debauchery, but I downplayed a lot of it because when I talk about it, it sounds hard to believe even to me, and I was the one living the shit. I think that was my first time talking about it to someone who wasn’t actually there to experience it, and I really started to see how unreal my life was. Dre started telling me that he was going to head back to the states

because he needed to get another job to save up some more money so he could go live in another country. He stated when he got back to the states he wanted to come to Atlanta and visit and crash at my place for about two weeks before he headed back to Ft. Lauderdale. I told him that wouldn’t be a problem. After awhile I started missing all the fuckery back home, plus I started thinking about all the money I could be making. I told Cynthia I would be leaving early, and she could just stay if she wanted to. I felt like a dick, but I had to get home because there was shit I had to do.

To be honest I was bored, what hustling had sparked back up inside me was not to be idle. I was like an adrenaline junky now. I had to be in the action. I had to be on the front line hustling. I had to be making money; doing something. I couldn’t be still. Being still meant I wasn’t doing anything but letting life me by. I had a deep hatred for that feeling at this point in my life. Cynthia said she was cool with it, so I made my flight arrangements. But before I left Panama I had to fuck that chica Maria from Cali Colombia just one more time. I get there and I’m looking for her, and I finally found her after maybe thirty minutes or so. We sit down and have a beer and a shot, and then we made our way back upstairs to do our business. When we get through having sex, she starts speaking to me in English; she starts asking me do I work there, I said,” What?” She says “Do you work here? When I come to work you are here, and when I leave work you are here. You are always here, do you work here?” At that point I could only imagine the stupid look I had on my face. I said, “BITCH!!! I didn’t know you spoke English.” She burst out laughing and proceeded to tell me it makes her job a lot easier if she acts like she doesn’t speak English. Now this shit was funny to me, and I’m literally laughing out loud. I couldn’t help but to think of all the dumb, ignorant shit I was telling her all of those times we were fucking. We both laughed a little more, and she kept telling me I was loco. I agreed and proceeded to kiss her on the cheek and I gave her a hug and told her I would see her in the future. And that was that. I got to the airport just in time to catch my flight.

Chapter 13 “THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME”

Reflecting back, I was feeling good because I just had the time of my life experiencing a new country and another culture. The food, the booze, and, my God, the whorehouses. Just being able to enjoy friends and family abroad was a really good feeling. I was happy and enjoying life.

I slept the entire flight back to Atlanta. As soon as my plane landed in Atlanta I was ready to get home. I never check bags when I fly, I take two small carry-on bags so I don’t have to wait for my luggage. I walked directly to the Marta station that was inside the airport and caught the north-bound train to Midtown train station. Then I jump on the number 10 or 11 Northside drive bus, and just like that I was home—Tenth Street and Howell Mill, mi casa, The Carter. I didn’t let anyone know I was home. It’s crazy how I had to sneak back into town. Cynthia called ahead to one of her friends and hooked me up with some tickets to the Lil Wayne concert. The concert was later that night, it was New Year’s Eve and I knew everybody who was anybody in Atlanta was going to be at this there, so I had to go. So I took a shower and chilled at my house, and it felt good to be home. I had a glass of Courvoisier with two ice cubes, one turned into three and luckily for me my cab had arrived to take me to the show before I could pour another drink.

I had some really good seats and I ran into a bunch of people I knew. I had a couple more drinks that I probably didn’t need, but fuck it, it was New Year’s Eve. The concert was jamming and the whole place was rocking. The music and the liquor had me in a zone. I was sitting there thinking like, Damn, this nigga already rich. I need to get back to my house so I can get to this money. I had four ounces of blow at my house, and if there were a day people wanted to get high it would be this day. People want to bring in the New Year right. So about the time I heard Lil Wayne starting to do the New Year’s countdown I was damn near out the front door and getting into a cab on the way back to my loft. I sent out a mass text to a lot of people saying Happy New Year, and that if they wanted to “party” to come to my house. My phone was blowing up because people were thinking I

wasn’t coming back to Atlanta until way after the New Year. About the time I made it to my front door I had three of my neighbors at my house, and all three of them wanted an 8ball. I served them their nose candy, and we had some drinks. For the next couple of hours my house was a revolving door. I had Christian and some of his buddies stop by. Shane drunk-ass came by. Cupcake and a lot more of my regulars stopped by to get some blow before they hit the town. Those damn funboys Chris turned me onto came to my house-scoring blow multiple times till like six in the morning. I made about two grand in less than two hours. I kept my two 8balls to the side for myself just in case I would run into some fuckery. It was the New Year, and I knew some chicks probably wanted to get loose. That white powder brings out the demon in some people. Some people just used it as a party drug. To me cocaine was GOD. I didn’t go anywhere without it. I wanted to have a couple of drinks and socialize with some people, so I walked down to Northside Tavern to have some drinks. I knew I would be selling blow well into the next day, and I didn’t have a problem with that. I just wanted to get out of the house. It’s crazy how I was in Panama just yesterday morning feeling all idle and shit; now I’m back in my fuckery and couldn’t be happier. I walked out of the house with a clear cup of liquor and walk right into Northside Tavern like I had been in there all night.

It was crazy in there. People were so fucked up and women were loose showing their breast like we were on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Everyone was fucked up and having a great time. I saw a couple people I knew and they started buying me drinks, all the while hinting to see if I had any blow for sale. I was like, “No, I don’t have any for sale, but I have some you can do.” I was feeling good because it was the New Year. Before I left the house I put a gram in two separate baggies just so the people I ran into could party. I let everyone that I was partying with go to the restroom and take key bumps out of it. It was this pretty brunette white woman in there, and she got wind I had some blow, and she wanted to party. We had some drinks and she wanted me to come to the girl’s restroom with her so she could pee. I love a woman who isn’t shy. When we got into the restroom, as she squats over the toilet to pee, she asked me if I had anymore blow. I pulled out the bag and put a key bump into each one of her nostrils. After she finished pissing she pats her pussy dry with the toilet paper, and then she washed her hands. I was entertained because she didn’t have on any panties. The drunker she got, the more blow she wanted. She grabbed the bag and did like three big ass bumps. I had my hand under her dress rubbing her

pussy as she was taking the bumps of blow. She tells me “stop before you get in trouble because I’m so horny”. I laughed and I stopped, and I said, “No means no” as I backed away from her. She told me to come here and that she was only playing. The next thing you know I am fucking the shit out of her in this nastyass bathroom. She’s bent over getting fucked in this cramped bathroom stall. I have her dress wrapped up in my right hand pulled up over her ass onto her back. I’m fucking her, and you can hear people laughing and trying to listen. She didn’t care and I damn sure didn’t care. To me this shit was normal, this was just a day in my fucked up life. I took a little hoe bath in the sink and I gave her the rest of the bag of blow. We pretty much lost each other in the crowd for the rest of the night. I can’t even what she looked like, but I know at the time she was pretty to me. I would have many more blurry nights like that one to come. The New Year was getting off to a great start.

Chapter 14 “IT COST TO BE THE BOSS”

My cousin Tondree shows up in Atlanta about two months after I visited him in Panama. He originally planned to stay for about two weeks; well at least that’s what he told me. I always believe in rolling out the red carpet and showing family and friends who visit me a good time. I mean, fuck it, I stay in downtown Atlanta, one of the most happening cities in the world. Club Compound was right next door to my place. It’s always things to do here.

The first day we just took it easy and hung around the house. I would introduce him to my neighbors when they would come by. I think the first person he met was Shane and his dog Dillon. I’m sure Dillon was twenty times smarter than Shane, one hell of a dog if you ask me. The second night Dre was there I took him to this place in the West End called “The Boom Boom Room.” The Boom Boom Room was an afterhour’s club that was located in a scrap yard. By day it was a functional business as a scrap yard, and at night it was a crazy-ass party place and whorehouse. They connected two 40ft. shipping containers and turned it into a club. When you walked up to the sliding glass doors you were greeted by two very large armed-security-type guys, and if they didn’t know your face they would ask you who you knew, or who told you about the party. If you couldn’t answer their questions you were not getting in, no matter how much money you offered them. Once you got inside, the kitchen was to the right where you would see these big-boned women frying chicken and past the make shift kitchen there was a pool table. If the women were cooking, you couldn’t shoot pool, period. If you were talking shit to the cooks they would get your ass thrown out of there with the quickness. To the left was the bar and past that was chairs lined up on the left and right side of the walls. All you could see was a bunch of fine ghetto bitches giving lap dances. They had a VIP section and a lot of the women would be selling pussy up in there. This is the type of place where you’re in and you didn’t know if you were going to get shot, have a good time, or go to jail at any given second. I think that’s the part that made the whole experience very interesting. They had porn playing on all the flat-screen TVs on the wall. The place was filled with just people from the neighborhood or surrounding areas who were getting high or getting drunk. I could see the look

on Dre’s face like, where the fuck am I, and what the fuck am I doing here. I was eating that shit up ‘cause I knew he had never been to a place like this in his life. I know people from Atlanta who had never been to The Boom Boom Room. I also knew he had never in his entire life been around any niggaz like these before. A lot of these people were real drug dealers, jack boys, and murderers. I told him, “Do not stare or even look at any of these crazy niggaz in here because I didn’t want any problems.” We got a couple drinks and sat down and just watched the show. I told him if he sees any women he likes let me know so I could get them to give us some dances. I went and got some drinks and a couple hundred worth of ones. I didn’t get too many ones because I didn’t want to draw any attention to the jack boys. The guys in this place really are the worst of the worst. I knew a lot of them so I was good, and I felt right at home. We were getting dances and drinking like sailors. I knew he had never fucked a hood-ass bitch before, so I told him to find a girl that looks good to him and let me know ‘because I was going to buy him some pussy. He is like, “Cuz, I don’t know, are you sure?” I‘m like, “Hell, yes, I’m sure.” Before we got into the place I knew he wouldn’t have a chance in hell to get or run any game on any of these girls on his own, so I told him once we go inside to only speak Spanish and act like he didn’t speak any English. He looked at me like I was crazy, but the shit worked like a charm. Those ghetto bitches were eating that shit up. I told them he was Dominican and this was his first time in the states. They fell for every bit of that bullshit. He finally found a girl, and I told him what to pay. I knew what she would charge, and I also knew what she would take, because I had fucked her a couple times in the past. I gave Dre the money and some rubbers and sent him off to VIP. He came back a little while later with the look on his face like he just ran a marathon. He was like, “Damn, cuz that black bitch fucked the shit out of me.” That was his first time ever fucking a hood bitch like that. After that we left, we headed back to my loft.

Within a week or two Dre was completely settled in, and it was good having him there in the beginning because he would walk Lola for me. When he cooked, he would always make me a plate and bring it across the street to my job or have food ready when I came home for lunch. He was a great cook, and so was I, so we had that in common. We would have little cook offs and everything. I wouldn’t hide any of my dealings from him, since I had already told him a little of what was going on while I was in Panama, but I guess he didn’t realize what I was really talking about until he got to see it with his own two eyes. He started

meeting a lot of my neighbors and they were really cool with him. He was really green to a lot of things. I got to see that he was really in his element being surrounded by or only dealing with white people. I also got to see that he really had a disconnect with black people. He had no clue that some of my neighbors were using him to try to get closer to me. Sometimes I couldn’t believe how green or brainwashed he was when it came to the obvious. He really thought these people were his friends. Poor guy, maybe in his mind these people were really his friends.

As each day ed Dre started to live more and more of my life, the life I had at my fingertips, the life I didn’t want anything to do with… I was paying the cost to be the boss and Dre was reaping all of the benefits of my lifestyle without having to take any of the risks or deal with any spillage. I guess in all of the free partying he had the illusion he was making this lifestyle for himself. A lot of my neighbors and my customers were living a very good life, and they had a lot of good perks to offer. I didn’t want to get too close to them on a personal level, but Dre could, because he didn’t have anything to lose but everything to gain. A lot of the people would invite him to the Braves games, out to the lake, or just out to bars with them just on the strength that he was my cousin, or because I couldn’t go. They would take him out and he wouldn’t have a dime in his pocket, he would also do the blow they would purchase from me… so basically he would get high and drunk all day for free because he had nothing else better to do and my neighbors always wanted some company. I don’t know why most people don’t like getting high alone; they always want to have some company around while they are getting high. Dre was that company for most of them. The life I was surrounded by was perfect for Dre. Most of my neighbors worked from home so he would chill with them.

At some point he started to spend a lot of time with Jen, she would only go to the club and dance on the weekend, plus she had a couple sugar daddies so she didn’t need to work much. Dre would be with her a lot of the time. Dre and Jen eventually started fucking, and if he wasn’t with Jen he would be with Shane. Sometimes I would just randomly go home and he would just be lying on the couch high as hell watching movies on his laptop, now that I think about it maybe he was watching porn. I would get the feeling like maybe I was

interrupting him jacking off or something. Then I would say to myself, I hope this motherfucker ain’t that stupid to just be sitting here jacking off on my couch… He was dating this girl name Amelia he met online so he would be skyping her quite often, me and one of my homies ended up fucking her but I will tell you about that later. Dre would see all of the women I was dating and all of the women customers that would come by. I would have flirt with some of them when they came by to get some blow, but most of them I had already slept. He would ask about some of them and I would let him know if I had fucked them or not. One day he said in a joking manner “Damn, cuz, you are a real live player.” I asked him why he said that. Now at this point, Marie had returned from flight attendant training and was back in Atlanta. He was amazed at the open relationship that I had with her and how she knew I would fuck other women and that sometimes she and I would share women too. I noticed that when a couple of the women who I was dating regularly would come over he would put on this “shy brother” role like you see in the movie The Five Heartbeats. Dre seemed really thirsty when it came to the women or even more socially awkward when it came to black women. He would be so over the top about how gorgeous some of these girls were and to me they were just regular ass chicks.

One day this white chick I know named Bethany came over. Bethany went to Georgia State and she used to work at one of the bars in the neighborhood. She would come over all of the time between classes or after she was finished with school for the day. We used to drink whiskey and talk shit. She was another person who used to tell me how pretty Marie was and she would normally do blow with Marie and Chris if they were at the house. I fucked her a couple times here and there, but it wasn’t anything serious. I used to front her a gram of blow, and she would always pay me back when she would get some cash. She just so happened to come over while Dre was there one day, I gave her the package she came to get, and I offered her a drink. She ended up having a couple of drinks like she normally did when she came over. She started doing a couple bumps of the blow and I was just sitting there drinking. We kept talking, and I could tell she wanted to fuck, so I grabbed her drink and she followed me to my bedroom, which was only divided by a half wall. Dre was sitting on the couch and I know he could hear me fucking her. Then I looked up and his sneaky ass was watching me fuck her, signaling like he wanted to fuck her too. So after I finished, I asked if it was cool if Dre could fuck her too. She was the real open and carefree type

and that blow had her so fucking horny she said yes. Dre loved white girls so he wanted her really bad. I told him to go in there and holler at her and see what she says. I went to the bathroom to take off the rubber and wash my dick off. As I walk past the bedroom on my way back to the kitchen to prepare myself another drink, I see Dre in there caressing her and damn near making love to this bitch. I just shook my head and continued on to the couch drinking my drink. Dre and Bethany wouldn’t let me finish my drink in peace. They wanted me to come in there with them. So I went back in just in case she wanted me there so she would feel more comfortable. I whipped my dick back out cause she said she wanted some cock in her mouth and who am I to deprive her of sucking my cock? After I busted a nut and damn near fucked up my sheets I went back to the bathroom and washed off my cock again. I get back to my whiskey that I had left unattended fucking with these fools and it wasn’t five minutes before these motherfuckers are calling me again. This time I go in there and they are lying side by side, Dre is rubbing her breast and the next thing I know this coon ass nigga is looking at me smiling like, “yeah, cuz, she wants that DP(double penetration).” I have this smirk on my face and I’m saying “ok but what the fuck is DP?” He was like “man all the swinger clubs you been to and you don’t know what DP is.” I said “bro just tell me what the fuck is DP.” This nigga told me that it is double penetration. At first I had to process the shit in my head, and then I thought to myself, if that wasn’t the gayest, most unmanly shit another man had ever said to me in my life, I don’t know what is. He is steady talking to me, calling dibs on her asshole and clearly this nigga wasn’t reading the expression I had on my face. So I said to him “if you have her bent over fucking her in ass, then I’m supposed to get in front of you and stick my dick in her pussy?” He looked at me and said “yes.” I was so disgusted and offended that I just grabbed my cellphone and a couple packs of blow and walked straight out the house without saying anything to the either of them. I’m a very secure man, but where I’m from two men dicks touching each other is some gay shit. Like do you see how close the asshole and the pussy are? Do you understand how close we would have to get to make that shit work? Now in my mind, he was so amped about doing it that he must have done it before, or maybe it was one of his fantasies but either way I wasn’t with that gay shit.

I just went to the patio at Northside Tavern and had a couple drinks of straight cognac. I decided to give C-Mack a call because sometimes I may overreact to shit, but I didn’t feel like this was one of those times. I needed to talk to C-Mack

about it though because he isn’t a “yes man,” and he wasn’t going to bullshit me. C-Mack couldn’t believe the shit I was telling him and was actually floored by it. He was laughing like hell, because of how pissed off I was about the shit. He agreed it was some really gay shit to ask. After having a couple drinks and talking his ear off we laughed and I told him I would get with him later. The whole time I was on the phone with C-Mack, Dre and Bethany were calling me constantly. I’m assuming to check my temperature, but I didn’t bother to answer the phone. I was back there on the patio thinking to myself when did this nigga say he was leaving again because now he is cramping my style. At this point he had been there close to two months, and there wasn’t any sign of him looking for a job or making plans to leave. I eventually went back to the house later that night and I talked to him about the situation, he apologized for offending me and we swept it under the rug. It wasn’t even a month later before Dre got out of pocket again though.

Marie and I were just chilling doing what we do normally do and I had just received a call from one of my home girls that I went to high school with and she wanted to know what plans I had for this Friday night. I told her that I don’t really make plans but if she wanted to come over we could all just go out somewhere. I told her that more than likely Marie and I would be together all night but she could us out. Dre said he was going to hang with Jen and probably do some drugs with her or whatever it is that they do. So Inez came over, and she, Marie, and I walked down to the Tavern to shoot some pool. Inez hadn’t gotten out the house in a minute and she just wanted to come downtown and have some fun. She didn’t do blow, she was just a weed and drink type of girl. I had already let Marie know that I fucked her a couple times in the past, but I couldn’t if she was bi or not. I was sure we would find out tonight though. We both laughed that off, but she knew I was dead-ass serious. We were at the Tavern for like four hours just drinking, talking shit, and shooting pool so around 1 a.m. Inez wanted to go back to the house and smoke some of the weed I had gotten her so we walked back to my place. While walking to my house I was feeling on both of them, but I didn’t know what was going to happen. We got back inside my place, and Marie makes us some more drinks, then we all step out on the balcony so Inez could smoke her blunt. We were just talking and looking at the beautiful skyline of Atlanta and then Marie and I go back inside while Inez finishes her blunt. I took Marie to the bedroom and just started pulling her clothes off, that whiskey had me horny as fuck. She sat down on the

bed facing me and started sucking my dick. She was stroking and sucking my cock while she had one hand playing with her pussy. Inez came back in the house and made her way into the bedroom and was watching from the doorway. She stated she was going to take a shower real quick. By the time she came back I had Marie’s pretty black ass bent over fucking her from the back. Inez laid on the bed in front of Marie and she spread her long legs wide open and placed her pussy in front of Marie’s face… Marie started to eat her pussy while I was slowly stroking Marie from the back. I was just watching the facial expressions Inez was making and they seemed so intense, she was looking like she was ‘bout to cum any second ‘cause Marie was eating the fuck out of her pussy, but really it was me who was about to cum right that very second, so I grabbed Marie by the hips and just started pounding her pussy till I came inside of her. Then pulled my dick right out of Marie and put it in Inez’s mouth and told her to taste Marie’s pussy. We were being very nasty and freaky that night. I was so fucked up I us repeating that same scene a couple of times before I fell out.

The last thing I is Marie getting up in the middle of the night and going to get on the couch. But the next thing after that I is feeling the motion of my bed moving and I thought I was dreaming but I wasn’t fucking dreaming at all. Dre’s sneaky pussy thieving ass, had snuck in my bed and all I see is him on top of Inez fucking her, I was half asleep trying to get my vision together to make sure I wasn’t tripping. I couldn’t even think straight because I was pissed the fuck off instantly. I couldn’t believe this nigga crawled into my bed while I was asleep and started stealing pussy from one of my bitches while I lay there fucking ed out. I woke up slowly and I see him and then I see Inez just lying there like she’s asleep but she has a dick inside her, I said “DRE WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING” Marie jumps up and runs into the bedroom and all I could hear her say was “oh shit” Inez is yelling saying “I swear to GOD I was ed out and I thought that was you on top of me.” Dre and Inez had never met, or even seen each other before until he saw her ed out in my bed. Dre is looking like a complete fucking fool talking about she said it was ok and I didn’t think you would care. I told that nigga to get to fuck out of my house, before I beat his fucking ass. Inez is my peeps and I’m going to believe her before I believe Dre’s sneaky ass. I was just tripping because the nigga was stealing pussy; what if Inez would have woken up screaming rape. A thousand different things were going through my head at the moment, plus I had all this dope in my house. I didn’t want the police nowhere near my spot. Thank

the Lord Inez wasn’t tripping but we were all fucked up about it. I just can’t see what this nigga was thinking, just coming into the house, seeing people laid out everywhere and to think that was cool on any level is just foul. I have no clue where Dre went that night but he had to get the fuck up out of my place. Inez left later the next morning, after she left Marie and I were talking and she was like damn I can’t believe how foul Dre’s ass is. Like from a woman’s standpoint he was a rapist but I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, however it’s only so many excuses you can make for someone. I spoke to Dre later that day and he was damn near in tears playing the victim role and shit. I could see a pattern forming. That’s how he acts when someone calls him out on his bullshit. He plays this helpless victim role; I could tell this would normally work with his other set of friends but with me, I was seeing right through that bullshit. After that situation I was really fucking over and done with Dre, I wanted him to find a job and get the fuck out of my place as soon as possible.

Chapter 15 “BLOOD IS THICKER THAN MUD”

At this point I was sick of Dre and I could see how he was throwing a monkey wrench in my operation. Dre’s old roommate Matt sent me an email and gave me the dates that he would be in the Dominican Republic and told me to meet him there if I could. I told him I would think about it and get back to him. A couple weeks later after the whole Dre stealing pussy incident, Dre found another way to rub me the wrong way.

One day he was out helping Shane as his assistant for a photo shoot. He and Shane had gotten really close and all buddy buddy. Shane’s girlfriend Pam texted me and asked me if I could bring her some beer over. That was her and Shane’s code word for some blow, so I told her to give me a few minutes and I would be over there shortly. When I got over to her house I could tell she had already had a couple glasses of red wine from the empty bottle that was on the table. She asked me if I were busy and I let her know I wasn’t at the moment. She seemed like she wanted to vent so I poured a glass of wine and sat down across the table from her. I was just listening to her go on and on about how Shane acts like a child, how he fucks up all of their money and how he is always getting drunk. She said he always says he’s going to walk the dog and then he doesn’t come back till hours later. She said she knows he goes over to Christian’s house to drink, then they come to my house to get blow and then he comes home all smashed. Pam tells me that one time he came home so drunk he peed in their bed and she was furious. I thought that was pretty damn funny. But after twenty minutes I was sick of hearing about their problems. I told her I was getting ready to go, but she wanted me to have another glass of wine. So I’m just sitting there drinking then somehow she and I are really close to each other and then we start touching each others arms. She is feeling on me and I’m feeling on her. In my mind I’m like ain’t no need of beating around the bush so I grabbed her hand from my chest and placed it on my cock, my dick was extremely hard, I couldn’t help it. She was this tall blonde model type chick with this big ass fake breast. Her friend and coworker I fucked had the same type of fake breasts. Shortly after she started jacking off my cock, I guess she had a change of heart and we just stopped, I didn’t want things to get weird so we hugged and I left.

I knew when I left her house that situation wasn’t over. I knew it was going to play out one or two ways. Either she was going to tell Shane and make up her own story of what happened in fear that I would tell him or someone and it would get back to Shane. Or two, act like it never happened and we would just keep it between us. So I wasn’t shocked when she chose option one. I ended up seeing Shane later that night after the encounter with his girl but he didn’t say anything about it, he just came by my house to get some blow and he was very dry. So I knew that he knew about it, but if he knew and wasn’t saying anything then fuck it. I guess he didn’t feel any kind of way because if it were me, I would have said something man to man. So the next day, Dre’s punk ass comes in the house as I’m making these fish tacos with my famous pineapple salsa. I said, “What’s up, Dre, what’s going on?,” and he gives me this dry ass what’s up so I know he is in his feelings about whatever Pam or Shane told him. He fixes his mouth and tells me, “Man, that’s fucked up, you tried to fuck Shane’s girl.” I turned around and gave him this blank stare. He said that shit to me as he was walking away, and the shit made me so angry I could have poured that fucking fish grease on his ass. I said, “Nigga, hold the fuck up. You know blood is thicker than mud, nigga, and how the fuck you are you going to walk in my house where you have been living rent free, eating for free, and I’ve been buying you drawers to put on your ass and you accuse me of doing some shit to some bitch.” I said, “Fuck, nigga, no one should be able to come to you and tell you shit ‘bout me and you are agreeing with him or her.” I said, “Is Shane or Pamela taking care of your ass?” I said,” Muthafucka, you could have come to me like a man and asked me did I do something before you accused me.” I said,”Dre, you are out of pocket, and it’s taking everything for me not to knock you the fuck out, because you keep crossing the line with me.” He tried to apologize, but I told him to spare me and get the fuck out of my face. Dre had pissed me off so many times it got me to thinking that I needed to go ahead and meet Matt in the Dominican Republic, because I needed a break from Tondree, plus, Matt could give me some insight on his character. I really needed to know what type of person this dude was. I know he is my cousin, and I will go the extra mile for my family, but he didn’t come up out the same sand box with me and his actions that he has shown me, makes me think that I don’t want to know this creep at this point.

So I told Matt I would meet him and his homie, Mark, in Dominican Republic. Before I left, Dre had the balls to ask me if I could leave him a package of blow that he could sell, make some extra money so he could save up for a ticket and he could leave. The nigga thought he was smart, and I was stupid. He thought if he told me it was for a ticket I would say ok and give him the green light and a package because I wanted him to leave. He was wrong because when I got ready for him to go he was leaving regardless. So the day came that I was flying to the D.R. and Dre’s slick ass asked me again about a pack and I just told him I just didn’t have anymore. The nigga wanted me to give him a handout. Hell, he had been staying in my house and living my life for damn near six months for free. I was all out of favors. I was all out of handouts too. I honestly didn’t give a fuck how he was getting home.

Chapter 16 “CUT THE GRASS TO SEE THE SNAKES”

I flew into Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. I was so excited when I got off of the plane because it was my first time in this beautiful country. I hopped in the cab and just gave him an address. We stayed at a nice hotel right on the Malecon in the city. You could hear the waves crashing right on the banks. We all got to the hotel about an hour or so apart. I probably had about six Presidente’s just waiting on them to arrive from FT. Lauderdale. By the time they arrived I had been thinking about the whole Dre situation and it was pissing me off all over again. So I couldn’t wait to talk to Matt face to face. Matt and Mark finally arrive. They got unpacked and we had a couple of beers and then we decided to just sit by the pool and check out the sights. We grabbed a couple more beers and drinks from the pool bar. So I asked him straight out of the gate, “Man, who the fuck is Tondree really?” He just shook his head and started to give me an earful. He asked me did I when Cynthia and I came to visit them in Panama, and I was like, yeah, sure. He said his wife was so angry with Dre because he was freeloading off of them for like 10 months. He didn’t tell them that we were coming to visit until the last minute, and his Venezuelan wife thought we were going to be freeloading off them as well. He told me how they originally planned to move to Panama. He said that when they saved up some money, they quit their jobs and moved. Matt told me they stayed in some cheap hotel that was like 20 bucks a night when they first got there and that he and Dre were partying really hard at first. He said they had both spent a lot of the money they had saved on cocaine and hookers, partying too much and gambling at the casino. Within a couple of weeks Dre had blown through his entire savings and basically was depending on Matt for financial until he found a job. Matt was in the service, so he was getting like $1700 a month from the G.I. bill so he didn’t really have to worry about money much. When his wife came from Venezuela and they got a house, Dre just came along for the ride. At this point he told me enough that I had made my mind up that I was kicking Dre’s ass out when I got home. He had used them up in Panama, and now he was doing the same to me in Atlanta.

I wasn’t going to waste anymore time in this beautiful country talking about

Tondree. We decided we would ride up to Boca Chica and check out the local beach. I didn’t know that Matt had rented a car for the duration of the trip. His crazy-ass had given some shady-looking Dominican his port to rent the car. I would not have ever done any shit like that. I told them I would meet them in the front because I needed to go to the ATM. As I’m walking through the hotel lobby I see this dude from the states that I worked with at MARTA and I’m like, “Damn, DJ, what the fuck are you doing here?” He said, “Man, I you said you were coming here this week. I didn’t have your number, but I ed what hotel you were staying at.” In my mind I’m like, what the fuck? I ed that day I was booking my flight on one of the job computers when he came up behind me and asked me where I was going. But damn, I didn’t think anything of it. I didn’t know the motherfucker was just going to pop up in the Dominican Republic and just bombard my trip, and that took some balls to just fly to another country without any of my info.

My life was full of random fuckery like that, so I told him, “Fuck it, man, just come with me, my friends and I are going to the beach at this very moment.” When I got to the car, Mark and Matt are looking like, who the fuck is this extra guy. I told them the crazy-ass story, and we all laughed. We got into the car; stopped by the store and got some more Presidente’s then headed up Las Americas highway to Boca Chica. Matt knew more Spanish then all of us… It was DJ’s, Mark and my first time in Dominican Republic, and we didn’t know any Spanish at all. So it was Matt’s job to do all the translating and driving. Finally, after circling around a couple times we were able to find a parking space. We got out and walked through this very sketchy-looking walk path and walked straight through a bar to the beach, all you can see is this beautiful ocean. We stuck out like a sore thumb, so all of the beach hustlers were all over us trying to sell any and everything. I met this Dominican guy that worked at the beach at one of the bars. His name was Carlito, a really good guy, and to this day whenever I’m in the Boca Chica at the beach I only sit at his bar. We got a couple of lounge chairs on the beach, a bunch of beers, and a bottle of rum. All the guys have seemed to make the acquaintance of a lady friend or two. We are lying on the beach and this dude, DJ, is acting like he has never in his life seen any pussy, or beautiful women for that matter. I know he is married, but he seems as though he never gets any freedom. He has three Haitian women on him; one is giving him a massage, one is doing his hands and feet and the third one is holding his drink as he sips out of a straw. This coon is over there

pampering himself like he is an African king. We are chilling with the locals getting fucked up, but I feel like I’m baby-sitting because I’m watching DJ the whole time. Matt and Mark looked at me with that look like, you better get your boy. I look over at him and he is all over the place. We decide to leave, because it was getting late and I tell all the fellas that we are about to head out and if they plan to bring any chicks back, they need to do so now, so we could be out. This coon-ass nigga, DJ, has made a deal with one of the girls to buy some pussy from her so she hasn’t left his side for like an hour. As we are walking to the car DJ sees another woman that is way sexier than the girl he is with, so now he wants her. Now here comes the bullshit. The girl that he ditches is feeling slighted because she spent all of this time with him at the beach, plus, she went home and packed a bag with plans on going back to the hotel with DJ. This puts all of us in a bind, and Matt has to relay to her that she isn’t going back to the hotel with us. She goes and tells her friends from the neighborhood, some real rude-boy types, and we started getting mobbed while trying to get out of there. We all pile up in the car and Matt is cursing like a sailor, and also driving, trying not to hit these people, but they are not going anywhere. So I decide to get out the car and speak to some of the locals. Carlito, the guy from the beach, even comes out and that was better for me, so I could let him know what was going on and he could translate to his people. I gave them like 40 dollars and told them to forgive my stupid friend. I did that just so we could get out of there alive, or not having to be beaten half to death.

Niggaz do some dumb shit for some pussy, and some guys just don’t know how to keep from getting killed while traveling abroad. We got back to the hotel in one piece with a couple of girls we got from the beach in Boca Chica. When we got back to the hotel DJ ran into a little trouble trying to bring his hooker into the hotel. The hotels really tries to keep the working girls out of the hotels, which is why when I book my rooms for any hotel I always say it’s two people. When I get to the hotel to check in I tell them my wife would be arriving later that night. I just used some crazy name like Ana Sanchez. So I didn’t have a problem getting my chick back to the room. Eventually, the security guard only charged DJ 400 pesos to get the chick in the hotel. Everyone went to their rooms and I assume fucked and partied like rock stars. Well, at least, that is what I did that night. The next morning all the guys, the girls and I, all go to breakfast just to feed all the booze we had consumed the night before. After breakfast we all decide to go sit by the pool.

Chapter 17 “GET CHA ASS BEAT YOU KNOW YOU MADE IT”

Something told me to go check my email since I turned my phone off while I was traveling to avoid the roaming charges. I checked my skype , and I have a message from my friend Sean. I could not believe what the fuck I was reading. He said, “I stopped by your house last night and Dre told me that you said for me to leave a pack with him, so I did.” I read that shit again just to make sure that I’m not fucking tripping. Dre has gotten a thousand dollars worth of cocaine on credit, using my face card. This is a violation on so many levels. I played it cool and said; ok, now I know I have to kill this nigga Tondree when I see him, but for now, I have five more days in the Dominican Republic. I was hoping he would sell the blow he got from Sean and be gone before I got back. I knew if I saw him I was going to do him something awful. This is that slick sneaky shit that gets you killed. What was going through his mind to think he could do this? How didn’t he know these types of actions were unacceptable? Don’t fuck with my money, period. If anything goes wrong, I have to give the money back to Sean without any hesitation. Dre isn’t a street nigga, nor has he ever been a damn drug dealer. This muthafucka has been watching me and how I move, and think he can do what I do. At this point I’m hotter than a virgin on prom night. I go back to the room and chop it up with Matt and Mark and they are at a loss for words on the shit I told them about Dre. I could go on and on about how much of a good time I had in Dominican Republic … But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about all of the bitches we fucked, and the cool whorehouses we went to so I digress.

After returning back to Atlanta from my six-day trip, I already knew how I was going to handle Dre when I got home. I had a lot of clientele so, in the six days I was gone, he should have been able to sell two ounces of blow just to my neighbors and at 60 dollars a gram he should have made 700 off of each ounce. When I got in the house just so happened that Dre was there acting like he was really happy to see me and shit. So he started to tell me that Sean came by and dropped off two ounces. I played dumb and asked where they were. He started to give me this stupid look and asked me what I meant. I’m like “where they at? I need to get them to sell because I know people missed me while I was out of

town.” He said, “Cuz, I sold them.” I said, “Ok cool, where is the money?” He said, “I needed the money to get a plane ticket to get out of here.” I said, “So let me get this straight, you used my connection to get some drugs without any money, you use my customers and my house, and you feel like you don’t need to give me anything?” He tells me that he needs the money, and he knows I have plenty of money, so I should understand. This nigga had to be the stupidest person alive if he thought I was going for that shit. I didn’t really care, once I knew he paid the plug back, and he didn’t fuck up my business with Sean. I just really wanted this snake out of my fucking house, out of my life, and I was going to cut off all ties with him.

Just seeing Dre in ing for the next couple days was pissing me off. I really couldn’t stand the sight of him. That Friday I was at work and Shane came by my job to get some blow. He got the blow, and he asked me what time was I coming to Dre’s going away party. I said, “What did you say?” He said, “Yeah, Dre is having a going-away party at Six Feet Under around eight tonight.” Shane started to look real crazy when he realized I had no fucking clue about a party. He knew he had said too much. I said, “Oh, ok, I will be there a little later.” Then not even thirty minutes goes by and Cupcake texted me from the bar that they were at asking me why I’m not up there and stated that a lot of my neighbors were there to see Dre off. I couldn’t wait to get off work at 11p.m. I went straight to Six Feet Under, but they had already left. I was sure they just went bar hopping to some other bars in the neighborhood, but I wasn’t about to waste my time tracking him down.

I went home, took a shower, and prepared for the rest of my night. Friday night everybody and their mother wanted some blow. Even a lot of my neighbors who were at this going-away party for Tondree kept walking over from the other bar they went to after they left Six Feet Under to get more blow from me. I knew when I saw him I was going to confront him about how tacky it looks for him to have a going away party and not, at least, invite me. This is the same guy that has been living on my couch for the past six months, eating my food, stealing pussy from my bitches, and just getting over on me all the way around. So around 2:30am I notice Dre hadn’t come back to the house, so I called Jen, and she says she is in Atlantic Station doing a photo shoot and she hadn’t seen

Tondree since earlier. I called Shane and he said that he and Tondree had left Northside Tavern together and walked back to the Lofts about an hour ago. Shane told me that Dre had come in for a couple of beers but he left saying he had to get ready for his flight tomorrow. I asked Shane if he knew how Dre was getting to the airport the next day. Shane says “Yeah, he asked me to take him, so I told him I would” I said, “Ok bet, homie, you have a great night. I will holler at you tomorrow.” Now, I’m sitting at my kitchen table laughing, thinking to myself that this coon is planning to leave without seeing me. The more I sat there and kept drinking, the madder I would get just thinking how this cat has gotten over on me. That liquor ain’t nobody’s friend, because I was becoming overwhelmed with rage and motivated by anger at this point. I have a nice buzz going on, and I’m mad as fuck and these two things are not a good combination at all. For some reason, I took out a gun that I kept hidden in the house and I just started cleaning it. I had some 2Pac playing in the background “When we ride on our enemies” I just had that on repeat. Then I ed when I used to have chicks over sometimes, this clown would go sleep in my car. I took the last shot of my drink and put my gun in my pocket. I decided to walk my dog so I wouldn’t have to get up so early in the morning and do it. Plus, I wanted to see if Dre was in the car asleep. As I’m walking through the parking garage going towards my car, either Lola was getting excited because she thought I was about to take her for a ride or it’s someone in the car. As I got closer I could see Dre is in there. I said this muthafucka is hiding out asleep in my car with the enger seat laid all the way back. So I take Lola in the house and I go back outside and I tapped on the window. Being facetious, I say, “Damn, Cuz, why you out here in the car? You aiight?” He looked like he had seen a ghost. I knew once I started asking him questions he was going to start lying to me. Right off the bat, I asked him why he didn’t invite me to his party. He started to stutter saying he didn’t have any party but went out for some drinks with some of his friends. I asked him when was he leaving, but he didn’t reply, he just started acting like he was really sleepy. He was doing the worst impersonation of a drunken person ever at this point. He said he was sitting in the car waiting on Jen to get home, because he was supposed to meet her at her house at midnight, but he fell asleep. He’s lying his ass off in my face, and I was so mad my whole body just got extremely hot. I said in a very muffled tone, “Bitch nigga why are you lying to me.” He is looking dead in my face at this point telling me he isn’t lying to me. I leaned over and I punch him on the side of his face as hard as I could, right by his ear. I hit him so hard his head bounced off the glass and instantly cracked my enger window. He grabbed the side of his face and looked at me in a daze like his ears were ringing. I hit him five or six more times before I knew it. He

was trying to block my punches but I was punching through his weak attempt of a block. He was trying to open the enger door and get out the car and I was leaning in from the driver seat just hitting him as hard as I could. Talking shit to him as I threw every punch. Everything I had let him get away with had just built up, and I just went postal on his muthafuck’n ass. He finally was able to get out of the car and I had to climb out the enger door and run behind him to catch him. He tried to run out of the parking garage exit door to the stairwell, but I grabbed him from behind and snatched him back in. I threw him to the ground and he tried to get up and run the opposite way. I kept talking shit to him as I was running behind chasing him down. I ran in front of him, blocked his path and I asked him over and over “Why you lie to me, nigga?” Every time I asked him I hit him (pop, pop is all you could hear). The last time I hit him he just fell to the ground. I hit him in the face so many times he just started leaking blood. I went to swing at his face again, and he was throwing up his hands begging me to stop, and at the same time trying to block my punches. So I hit him in the stomach so hard he just folded up in the fetal position and started moaning. It’s like I couldn’t control myself I was so angry. I felt so used and like he took advantage of my kindness so, I just kept beating him and talking shit to him. More than anything I was hurt. I felt vulnerable, and I didn’t like that feeling at all. I started stomping and kicking him repeatedly. He was balled up on this hard-ass concrete in the fetal position, crying at this point. I climbed on top of him and put my knees on his arms so he couldn’t block his face anymore. I spit in this muthafucka’s face three or four times. If I had to piss at the time I would have honestly pissed on him. I wanted to rip him of everything I felt like he was trying to take from me. I stopped abusing him just long enough to catch my breath. I told him that his white friends allowed him to get away with too much shit, but us niggaz don’t let shit like that ride. I continued to punch him until I grew more tired, I drove my knuckles into the concrete a couple times when I missed his face.

My knuckles were bloody and I still have the scars on them to this day. When I realized he was crying and begging me to stop…it’s like I snapped out of my angry rage. I was still sitting on his chest, out of breath and breathing all heavy. Then I reached in my pocket and pulled out my gun. I told him over and over how bad I wanted to kill him. I put my pistol to his jaw with enough force it should have went through his fucking skin. I shoved the gun in his mouth as if I was trying to knock his teeth out and cocked it. He was crying for his life and at

this point I am lying on the ground next to him with my gun in his mouth. I had my lips damn near on his ear lobes when I whispered to him in a calm voice “Get cha ass beat, you know you made it, nigga, get cha ass beat you know you made it nigga.”(Twice on purpose) I got up and kicked him a couple of more times and then leaned over and hit him in the top of the head with the butt of the pistol. As I was walking away I was looking around to see if anyone was looking, or if there were any cameras that could have possibly recorded that shit. I could hear him still crying and moaning in a distance as I walked away. I really felt bad once I calmed down, but what is done is done, and like a nigga told me, “if you get your azz beat you know you made it.” Made it where, you may ask? Made it to exactly where you were trying to go. He asked for that ass-whooping. I call it tough love. I bet he will think twice in the future when he tries to pull some fuck shit on someone. I went in the house and got all the drugs and guns out of my house, and took everything to one of the chicks house I was fucking who lived in the building. I took a shower, had her make me a large cup of jack Daniels neat. She saw the blood on my knuckles and on my wife beater and she asked me was everything ok, and if there was anything she needed to know. I told her no and that I needed to put this box in her closet and it’s best if she didn’t open it. We just laid in bed and as she fell asleep and I was just up thinking about how wicked shit had gotten, and what I needed to do.

Chapter 18 “FAIR WEATHER FRIENDS”

I got up later that morning before noon and went to my house to let my dog out, and I noticed that Dre’s bags were gone, and my keys were left on the counter. I hadn’t let Lola out of the cage in so long she had peed in the cage, but I wasn’t even mad at her. I had to clean up dog piss with my sore hands. They felt and looked like I had been in a bar brawl. I walked Lola through the courtyard like my normal routine. I saw the maintenance man, Keith, as I was walking and I told him I needed to change my locks as soon as possible. I tried to slide him a fifty-dollar bill, but he wouldn’t take it. Keith was the coolest guy ever. He didn’t mention anything about any complaints or seeing anything on camera, so I assumed everything was good. As I was walking Lola in the courtyard area I ran into Leah’s corny-ass boyfriend, Mike. I did what I normally do when I see him, give him this fake-ass wave and say, “What’s up” and it killed me to do that because I could not stand his ass. Normally, when I see him when I’m walking my dog, I just have visions of mashing dog shit into his face, then I just snap out of it. I spoke to him, and he looked at me with the nastiest look, so I said, “Damn, Mike, what’s gotten into you?” He called me an animal and told me I disgusted him… He said, “Don’t act like you don’t know. I saw Tondree and I cannot believe you would beat him up like that, because he didn’t invite you to his party. “That’s your fucking family, bro, your blood.” All I could do was shake my head. He told me not to ever speak to him again but I didn’t give a fuck because I didn’t like the muthafucka anyway.

White people are not loyal at all when it comes to shit like that. They will turn their fucking back on you in a heartbeat without knowing the full story. Again, I see why Tondree didn’t have any black friends because they would have seen through all of his bullshit. So I went back in my house and like an hour later Shane comes by being all phony and fake. He asked me what did I do to Dre? I said “did you see him?” He said, “Yes,” and then I said. “Well, then, you know what I did to him.” Shane told me that Tondree came and stayed at his house early this morning all beat up and bloody. Shane said he had to come to my house and get Tondree’s bags because he couldn’t walk, and that he thought he had broken ribs. I told him that he could have been worse off and that Tondree

should be lucky that he has his life. I wasn’t fazed by any of that shit Shane’s ass was talking. I offered him a beer and he is steady trying to tell me how much of a good guy Dre is. He started to tell me he had to drive Tondree to the airport, and he had to be escorted on the plane in a wheel chair. Shane asks me was it really called for, for me to beat him the way I did. I told Shane, “Fuck, yeah, it was.” And I told him to get the fuck out of my house. The greatest trick the devil ever played was having people think he didn’t exist. Tondree was the devil, and he had fucked up my whole shit. I went from being that cool black guy who rescues animals to just a regular street nigger in their eyes.

All around the complex in my circle of customers the word was spreading about how I beat Tondree’s ass. People were looking at me differently and keeping their conversations with me to a minimum, but they still had to come see me to score some blow. See, I still had the best blow in town, and I was still convenient. But after a week or two, I was still uneasy about how my shady-ass neighbors were acting. I got that gut feeling like it was time to go. I didn’t want to wait until one of my neighbors decided to tell the leasing office, or call the police on me just to get back at me for the Dre thing. Was I paranoid? Yes, but I always follow my gut, and my gut and my mind was saying move. So I went to the leasing office and put in a thirty-day notice to move. I hated the idea, but when people get too comfortable, that’s when they get caught up. I had told Sean what was going on, but I didn’t tell any of my neighbor’s I was moving.

On the 30th day I got up early and moved the entire contents of my loft in a matter of hours. I moved a couple exits away right off of Freedom Parkway. They were some luxury apartments that used to be the old Wheat Street Gardens. I liked this new place ‘cause a couple of my homies were living in the same building. It wasn’t as open visually to every one like the loft was. I could move around and not be seen as much. It was brand new, and I think I was like the 35th tenant to move in, so it was real quiet. The only bad thing was that they didn’t allow pitbulls, so I had to hide my dog, but, other than that, it was great. I just put up my sex swing, and put up my projector, and it was home sweet home. I was just a short walk to North Highland Avenue to all the bars and even a shorter walk to Edgewood where there were even more bars and things to do.

The location was perfect, right by the highway and everything. When you are selling drugs, location and safety is everything. I didn’t want people knowing where my new place was, so I would just tell them to meet me at one of the bars that were in my neighborhood. It was a ton of them and other eateries, so I was never seen at the same place all the time. Hell, sometimes I would ride my bicycle to meet my customers out in the neighborhood when I was cycling. In my new place I quickly met a couple of neighbors just by chilling by the pool. A lot of them smoked weed so I would keep weed at the house just for the hell of it. I use to buy weed from one of the guys I worked with at MARTA. He would come by on his lunch break in the company truck to sell me weed, and I thought that was funny as hell. We were just some regular blue-collar workers trying to get that white dollar. My plug, Sean, had come to visit to check out my new place and to talk. We never talked on the phone, so when he said he wanted to come over; I knew he wanted to tell me something. What he ended up telling me I didn’t see coming, but I wasn’t worried too much about it. He told me he would be moving to Miami in two months, but he would still be able to get me blow whenever I needed it. I would have to meet some of his connects and go to them, but I wasn’t too thrilled about that, and it was too far away for me to really dwell on it at the time. Plus, I still could go to the Southside and get blow from De. Hell, he worked with me too and I would meet him out on his routes and just pick up my packs from him. That was more convenient than driving all the way to the Southside where he was trapping.

Thursdays and Fridays were my off days from my real job, so those would be the nights I would go out and find new customer’s and get into a little debauchery. On Thursdays I would walk to this eclectic bar/restaurant called P’cheen on North Highland Avenue. I could just tell a lot of the people in the bar did blow. I would have guys just ask me for it, out the blue, and I would say I didn’t have any. Women were easier to deal with, and they didn’t want any trouble. I would see a woman at the bar and if I thought she did blow, I would send her a drink and then ask her if she was partying tonight. Depending on how she answered that question, I knew if she did blow or not. If she did it, she would give me a confused look as if she didn’t know if I’m asking her if she wants some blow, or if I was really trying to see if she was partying out on the town. You would have to be in the life to know what I’m talking about; it’s really a science to this shit.

Across the street from P’cheen they have two more bars, a Mexican restaurant and Jack’s Pizza. I liked Jack’s Pizza because damn near everyone in there does blow, It’s a real dive bar, kind of like Northside Tavern, but they sell food. I’ve gotten into a lot of random fuckery in those places. I have fucked multiple times, gotten head, and sold so much blow in the bathroom at Jacks that, to me, it’s really like Northside tavern.

Chapter 19 “WHEN IT ALL FALLS DOWN”

After a long night of partying at the Clermont Lounge I was awakened by a phone call from one of my homeboys at work. He called me early as fuck, and I was still half asleep. He said, “Shawty, you ain’t gone believe this shit” I replied, “Damn, nigga, what’s the deal?” He said, “Man, De just killed a nigga last night in the trap” I said, “What the fuck did you just say?” Then I’m like, “De, who?” He is like, “our De;” I’m like, “Man, I be damned.” He started telling me what happened, and I couldn’t even fucking focus. He told me that De had left the scene to go home and tell his wife what happened, and he turned himself in a couple of hours later. He was saying that De should be able to get off because it was self-defense. I didn’t want to hear none of that shit, to be honest. On the one hand I’m being selfish, and on the other hand, I’m mad at De. For one, like, damn man, I told that nigga ‘bout trapping out there with them hood-ass niggaz who ain’t got shit to lose. On the other hand, I’m like, damn the nigga De was being a crab, and never hooked me up with his plug. I don’t know why he never connected me with his people, but I was salty with him for a minute about that. My whole operation is dependent upon him and my other plug is leaving for Miami in a month. I’m slowly coming to the realization that all good things have to come to an end. De was able to post bail after two weeks and I linked up with him as soon as I could. I’ve known this cat since elementary school, and I worked with him for years, so I was genuinely concerned about his wellbeing and his situation. I met up with him and I could tell he was shook. Hell, what nigga with a murder charge hanging over his head wouldn’t be shook? We shot the shit for a minute about what happened, and then I asked if he was going to still hustle? Even though I already knew his answer before I asked him. He said, “Man, I’m not fucking with nothing.” I asked him what was up with the plug. I said “I need you to plug me in with your people.” He said, “Man, I am not doing shit, and I ain’t going nowhere near them niggaz.” I couldn’t blame him, though, plus, niggaz in the hood see you not in jail when they know you just killed a nigga, they will think you are snitching, and everyone is trying to stay as far away as they can from your ass. But I really couldn’t help but to think back on how I had hooked him up with my plug, and let him eat, and he never did the same for me. There wasn’t any sense in being all in my feelings about the shit though, I just know everyone does not think or act alike. Nor do people look out for each other like they should. My operation shouldn’t have to suffer because he

got jammed up, that seems very selfish for me to say, but that’s the reality of it. Right then, man, I just said, fuck it, this shit ain’t meant to be. My plug moving to Miami, my homie, De, went to jail to do thirty years for murder. I just sold the rest of the blow I had left. I wasn’t going to force it. It was the way the universe wanted it. I walked away just like that. I was done.

The hardest part was telling the people who would call, that the shop was closed. I felt like I was letting them down. In a sick way it felt good to be needed by so many people. I just stopped answering my phone altogether. I would see some of my clients out, and they would be like, “Man, when are you going to open up shop again?” I would just tell them I wasn’t sure. By the second week of closing down my business I think I became semi depressed. No one wants to destroy something they built from the ground up. Now true indeed, I didn’t build a legitimate fortune 500 company, but I built something that I was good at, that gave me a purpose and made me feel alive. I started from an 8ball of cocaine to getting a quarter kilo to a half a kilo at any given time I wanted. Nas has a song where he says every drug dealer’s dream is reaching a kilo. That wasn’t my dream, but I reached that in just a matter of months. I built a massive clientele of all the right customers. Not having my operation up and running was taking its toll on me. I knew I couldn’t do it forever but I wondered if I would have ever stopped if these life events hadn’t just occurred.

I had a lot on my mind, and I didn’t want to be in Atlanta. I didn’t want to be in my house and I didn’t want to be around my friends. I was just sitting in my house listening to the blues and drinking bottles of cheap-ass wine I had gotten from Trader Joe’s. I started searching online for islands I could go to just to relax. I’m drunk as hell at this point when I’m making all of these abrupt decisions. I decided to buy a round-trip ticket to Trinidad. Seven days should be a long enough time to run away and be depressed. I heard the women there were beautiful, and the food there was great. The next morning I got up early, took a hot shower and brushed my teeth. I finished off another bottle of wine as I was packing my one bag. I headed to the airport for my solo vacation to Trinidad. It’s pretty cool to have the balls and the money to pick a place you’ve never been, a place where you know no one and just go there on a whim. I got to the airport five hours before my flight because I didn’t have anything better to do. You

know you got it bad when you are bar hopping in the airport. When it came time for me to board the plane, I was so smashed I was surprised they even let me on. I slept the entire flight to Trinidad.

When I landed I was feeling refreshed but still slightly buzzed. When I stepped out of the airport I just it being so warm, beautiful, and colorful. I told my cab driver where I was staying, and he asked me why I decided to stay there. He said I looked like I have money so why would I stay in such a shitty hotel. I laughed and told him shitty hotels make me feel at home. He wasn’t bullshitting though; my hotel wasn’t even a two-star t. I found the place online—a cheap no frills hotel right on French Street in the Port of Spain area of Trinidad, the La Calypso. If this place was over thirty dollars a night I would be shocked. I read the reviews online and a lot of backpackers stay there when they travel through Trinidad. I went to the Calypso and got settled in, they put me on the top floor and the rooftop area had a nice view of the city. I got unpacked and headed into the streets to see what kind of trouble I could get into in this beautiful country. I grabbed a lamb gyro from a food truck, and then I spotted this placed name Crobar. It had a lot of locals at the bar and they were playing a soccer game on the TV’s so the place was crowded. I quickly met some locals and they started to tell me all the places to “Lime” at. In America we say chill, relax, or kick it, Liming was the same as that. Man those Trinidad dudes were cool as fuck. The guys started to tell me they had some brothels right around the corner from where I was staying. These Indian and black women were so beautiful. I needed to make sure

I took the time out of my nonexistent schedule to go check out this whorehouse they were telling me about. A couple hours had ed and I was good and loaded off Caribbean beers and rum. I jumped in a cab and told him to take me to the place that had the beautiful women that was around the corner. I told him all that because I couldn’t the name of the brothel. He knew exactly what I was talking about because he got me there in no time. He dropped me off right in front and I just walked in like I’ve been there a hundred times. That’s what you do, you just walk in like you are not a stranger, and act like you belong there, and no one will mistake you for a tourist. By this time I’m a whorehouse expert, a whorehouse connoisseur to be exact. It was very similar to the ones I

visited in the Dominican Republic and Panama. I could not have picked a better place to run away to and play depressed than in the Port of Spain. The only difference was I was on a solo mission, and I was beyond fucked up. I had a couple of more drinks that I should not have had, and I sat in a booth just checking the place out. A couple of women came by and flirted with me, but I was too wasted to leave the booth and plus, at this point I’m sure I would have had whiskey dick. The damn room started spinning so I laid down in the booth and I guess I ed out drunk right there. I had to be asleep for a little over an hour. I couldn’t believe that shit. The people let me sleep in this booth and didn’t even fuck with me. I had over a thousand dollars in my pockets, not to mention the cards and other cash I had in my wallet.

As soon as I woke up I checked my pockets and I couldn’t believe I still had all of my money. I was so fucked up, anyone could have ran through my pockets and hit me up for all of my cash, and I couldn’t have done shit. My life is in shambles at this point, and I’m out of control, but that power nap gave me my second wind. I downed a couple glasses of water and threw some gum in my mouth and started walking around and checking out the women they had in there. All of them were so beautiful I was having a hard time picking one I wanted to ravish. I decided on this slim black and Indian-looking chick with long black hair. I bought her a couple drinks, and we just sat at the bar talking. She asked if she was my type. I told her she was pretty, but her ass could have been bigger. She told me she liked my honesty, and then she said “since we are being honest you could be a little taller.” We both laugh and right then I knew I was going to be fucking her tonight. We had a couple of more drinks and did a little more talking before I told her I wanted to take her to the back room. This girl was funny as hell and just beautiful. While we were talking earlier she had asked me did I want to go to the back room and fuck. At the time I told her that I had whiskey dick, she didn’t know what that was, so I told her basically my dick is asleep. She burst out laughing. So when I told her I wanted to go to the back room she sounded so cute in her Trinidadian accent when she said, “No more whiskey dick.” I told her, “Nope, you woke him up.” I stumbled to the back and started making drunken lustful love to my Trinidadian wife for the night. Either I was putting in work, or it was hot as hell in there, but I was sweating like crazy. In my mind I’m saying maybe it’s all the liquor I had drank that has me sweating like a pig. In reality this little Trini woman is fucking the dog shit out of me and she has me working in her pussy like it’s a 9 to 5 job. We finally finish making

love and war, and she tells me that I can really fuck, and to let her know when I got ready to leave the club for the night. I can’t lie I was not in control of that situation because she was fucking me and telling me what to do. I had to go back to the booth and drink a couple more glasses of water. Shit, I had to catch my breath; man, I was fucking tired.

My buzz was leaving me so I ordered a rum drink and another beer that I was double fisting drinks at this point. Ten minutes later the girl who had just fucked my brains out comes to my table with a friend. They look like sisters, twins, even. She introduces the girl and tells me it’s her cousin. She said her cousin who is 19, had just started working at the club; it was her first week there. She said I told my cousin how you fucked me, and I want you to fuck her like that, too. Damn, she has just put me on the spot. I’m flattered, so I told the big cousin that’s cool, not a problem, so I took the little cousin back to the room and I could tell she was shy. I took my time with her; she was a very nice and sweet young lady. The little cousin and I went back to the main area and started dancing. I knew I was going to take the little cousin home for sure, I could tell she didn’t want to be there anyway. I was going to save this hoe tonight.

The bigger cousin found us on the dance floor and I told her that we were both about to leave and head back to my hotel. She told me to give her twenty minutes, and she was going to leave with us. I didn’t know how this was going to play out, but however it was, I was going to be there to see it unfold. The big cousin comes out and all three of us leave the club. I tell them where I stay and asked if we needed to get a cab. They declined the cab and said, it’s no problem that we walked. We all were just talking and laughing like we have known each other forever. We walked past this one food spot and the food smelled so good I just had to stop, plus, I was hungry as hell. We grabbed three plates of some roti, chicken rice and beans, and head back to my place. We got back to my hotel and went to the rooftop terrace and ate our food. I had a bottle of Courvoisier and a bottle of some rum I grabbed from the duty-free store. I made all of us some drinks; we were just eating and drinking on the rooftop until the sun came up. ‘Bout this time we were all drunk and tired. They decided they were staying with me so the two cousins jumped in the shower together, and after they got out I took a shower. The whole time I’m in the shower I’m thinking I need to take my

ass to sleep. When I got out I saw them both lying in my bed, just in their bras and panties. I just jumped in the middle of the two cousins and we all just cuddled up and went to sleep. It was damn near two in the afternoon when we all got up. I wake up and my dick is hard as hell. I have all these body parts on me, pussy and breast on my back, ass in the front of me and I have a hand full of breast. I just started rubbing on the one in front of me. The one in back of me has her hand on my cock. The next thing I know I’m having a threesome with two cousins. Now they didn’t make out with each other, but they both took turns riding my face and my cock. Now this is how you are supposed to wake up; with two chicks that look like twins riding my cock, and the other is riding my face. I had my way with them for a couple hours and went back to sleep.

They ended up staying with me another day. All we did was sleep, eat, and fuck. When we did leave the room we went bar hopping, and they showed me around their city. I had quickly forgotten the reason I came to their country. The following day the cousins went home because they had to go back to work later that night. I decided just to get out and walk around and see the neighborhood. They had a casino at the end of the block, I don’t gamble, but the only reason I went in the casino was because they had these two beautiful hostesses at the door and they told me free drinks. I went in there and got a couple free drinks, got a twenty-dollar bill’s worth of change and played the slots. I wasn’t in there ten minutes and I had hit. I guess it was my lucky day because I won two hundred dollars. After I won the two hundred bucks, I finished my drink and got the hell out of there. I wasn’t ‘bout to give that money back to the casino. I walked out of there and went in this tattoo shop that was a block up the street. I figured that I would spend my newfound riches on a tattoo. The guys in the tattoo shop were cool. I asked one of them how much they would charge for a particular tattoo I wanted, but he never gave me a price, he just started checking out the artwork I already had. The guy I was talking to calls a guy out from the back and tells him to come check out my tattoos. The guy he called from the back was the owner. I thought maybe the owner was going to be the guy to tell me how much I was going to be charged for the tattoo I wanted. The tattoo shop owner tells me that I have some really nice high-end tattoos and that they wouldn’t be able to compete with the work that I already had. I thought they were fucking with me, but they weren’t; they were dead-ass serious. They started asking me who I was, and who did my work. I told them I was from Atlanta and the tattoo artist that did all of my work was named Trevor. The guys told me to stick around for a bit because

they were about to close the shop for the day, and I could them out drinking. I thought that was really cool. We went to a really cool dive bar in the area that all the locals went to. Man, I was having a good time. These cats were buying me all types of drinks and wouldn’t let me pay for anything. They invited me to some club that they were going to later, but I didn’t make it. I went back to my shitty hotel room and ed out ‘til the next day. I think I stayed in that room for like two days straight. I only came out to get food and more booze. I did a lot of sleeping, and I just really needed some me time. Time to reflect on my life. How I had just closed the dope-boy chapter of my life, and what I needed to do going forward. Sitting alone in this shitty hotel room in Trinidad is where I had to come to grips with it and face he truth.

CHAPTER 20 “IT IS WHAT IT IS”

It was over, and I wasn’t going to miss the money, I was going to miss the fuckery: the debauchery, the cocaine and cumstains lifestyle I had created. It’s not none of that wild-ass shit you see in the movies where I got caught up and had to go to jail, or I got robbed or shot at. I didn’t have a come-to-Jesus moment. In life, things run their course, and this was no different. I look at it like it was an experiment; it wasn’t a way of life for me. Most people get addicted to the money and can’t come to grips when the money stops flowing in. I have never been a slave to money like that. I look back on all the wild times and the parties, the bullshit and everything. I can honestly say I had a fucking blast. I took a chance and it worked out for me. I didn’t just exist; I was living my fucking life to the fullest. I don’t regret anything. I gained a lot of things I can’t put on a resume when I’m looking for a job, but who really wants a regular boring-ass job with no excitement? More than anything, my experiences with this has just taught me to never stop living. I’m not saying go out and sell cocaine to feel what it is like to live your life, but that’s what it took for me to feel alive again.. I’m saying hit the reset button on your boring-ass life and find something that challenges you, something that tests you daily and keeps you on your toes, keeps your heart beating fast where you have to think and make decisions quickly. I hope now you all have a better understanding of what I mean when I say… COCAINE AIN’T FOR ME BUT I LOVE THE SMELL…©