Somedays it was crazy in the 'hood. Nigga's would get shot for feenin' for some good pussy, crack , or those green Godfathers. Shit, just the other day the biggest drug dealer of my time got smoked by someone of his own clientele. I can still picture the rats gnawing at Wanya's body and his mama's voice...........
Inside my window
I watch my world go by.
I see my brothers' slingin' dope
and the tears in their mother's eyes.
Wanya stepped out of his nineteen seventy Cadillac in a slow gangsta swagger. With a wine colored Brooks Brother polyester suit and pink silk Armani butterfly collared shirt, buttoned just right to expose the gold rewards of husltin' and pimpin' the hoes, Wanya resembled the prodigy of an old G.. His wine colored platforms were polished to perfection. His rings blazed more dazzling than the sun that overcast the pissed filled, graffiti printed buildings of the Chicago ghetto.
Clothes lines cluttered the skyline, and nappy - headed children filled the streets with games of tag, basketball, and "G's and Hustla's."
Wanya knew these streets far too well. For thirteen years he had struggled through these roach infested alley's and sidewalks, and took notes from his old G who was one of the biggest drug dealers this side of the ghetto. Wanya never dreamed that the man he loved and admired would go down by the hands of a crack head nigga.
After his father's death, Wanya took the business skills he learned, and most importantly, his street smarts, and began to build his own empire of pure, white, angelic, sweetness: cocaine.
Now at the age of sixteen, Wanya was a chocolate-covered-afro-sportin'-sweet-talkin'-hustler-pimp-sugar-daddy all combined in a 5'9" buffed physique. He had all the money, cocaine, cars, jewelry, and hoes a man could want. Speaking of the latter, Wanya had to hurry and complete this transaction because he had a well stacked bitch waiting fro him at the crib.
Africa was blessed with the most hellified body this side of Chicago. Her broad striking features, and captivating delicious caramel eyes, only intensified her long, sexy, cappuccino complected body. Her afro was as large as Angela Davis', but it only seemed to accentuate her blackness, her beauty, her vibe.
Tonight, Wanya couldn't wait to feel her flesh next to his, the smell of sex in the room, and the way it felt when her lips caressed his dick. However, Wanya had to be careful with this bitch because he had been seeing her too much lately. It was always his rule that he never fucked a hoe twice. He was afraid of that complicated shit called "love." The last thing Wanya was thinkin' about was love, marriage, two kids, and a goddamn fuckin' dog named Fluffy. It was all about gettin' his and smokin' whatever nigga that tried to get in his way.