Niggathrond And The Path Of Youth And Foolishness
When we were younger there was nothing else for niggas in this Wild Wild Worst town to do but fight. Me, Rinzlo, Cicero, Lindo, and Franco―the Five Os. We were from the same side of town: torn Millé and Hi-Tech sneakers unworthy of hot-stepping in, out-of-fashion t-shirts from the Pep store with girl-pulling gravity set to zero, and not even a coin between us to spend at the video game arcade. We’d pool our poverty at the mall on weekends waiting for rich kids from Olympia and Ludwigsdorf to give us shifty looks so we could corner them in the parking lot and pound on them.
Anything could set us off.
Some Jordan-wearing dude looking at our cheap kicks funny? Fight.
Rinzlo’s younger brother getting bullied? Fight.
Some random-ass nigga coughing into the west wind while we were coming up from the east?