Wake up in the morning, pack a deep bowl, and rip it, then pack another. I usually don’t go this hard when I wake and bake, but fuck it man, today’s different. Doesn’t matter, I just got an ounce of some of the freshest purp from my boy, so I have enough to get me by. After all, I definitely do need something to calm the nerves after last night. I have way too fucking much coke in my apartment right now too, but I still have all my money. How the fuck could I have gotten all this coke for free?
I definitely fucked with the wrong guys, and I’m pretty much a dead man. Those fucking Puerto Ricans are probably on their way over here right now to chop off my fucking nutsack. The details are really hazy, I was really drunk and really high – on more than a few things – but I definitely remember that the deal went south. I saw the guy pull something metallic out of his jacket, and I definitely can recall seeing a flash and hearing a bang, but I blacked out soon after, and I can’t fucking remember shit after that. Not a single fucking thing – except for sirens, I remember those – but I woke up with blood on my shirt – and no cuts on me – so something must’ve happened after that.
I tried calling Johnnie, but there was no answer. I have no clue what the fuck happened, but the flash, the bang, the blood, the sirens, and no Johnnie makes me think that something really shitty happened last night. Everything’s so fucked up. Johnnie was a good kid, he really was, never fucked with nobody, but I dragged him into a fucked up situation and for all I know, his ass is lying in a gutter somewhere right now. Poor Johnnie, kid never saw it coming.
The most fucked up part of this is that I don’t even know if it’s Johnnie’s blood that’s on me. I usually carry this little switchblade on me – just in case, you know- and I can’t find it anywhere right now, so that has to mean that I brought it out at some point and showed at least one of those Puerto Rican motherfuckers what it means to mess with us. These are some dangerous fucking people we were dealing with – but that’s the shit you need to go through if you want the most premium product – so they definitely want to see my ass impaled on a stick right now. But if these fucking P.R. pieces of shit think they’re just gonna come in here and have their way, they’ve got another thing coming. I’ve got both my nines fully loaded, ready to bring down a hail of gunfire and hopefully put a few bullet holes in those motherfuckers.
So, at this point I’m armed and dangerous, but I still don’t know what the fuck to do. Do I stay here, watching the door and get ready to pump some lead into the first guy that walks through it, or do I pack up my shit and try to find a place to lay low for a little while? And where the fuck should I go, who should I trust right now? I have no fucking clue, I’m freaking the fuck out, man. I definitely need to smoke a little more, just so I can chill out a bit. I figure that after I get a bit mellower, I’ll definitely be able to think this through a little more clearly.
Then I hear my phone beep, I got a message. It’s from Johnnie. How the fuck is a dead man texting me? So I read the message and it says “you got my money?” Holy fucking shit, they got Johnnie’s phone and they know who I am and that I have their shit. I am a fucking dead man. I still don’t know what to do, I can give them their money and try to reason, or I can shoot first and ask questions later. Either way, I decide I’ll figure it out while they’re getting over here, so I text back, “yea, I got it right here. come on over.” I make sure once again that the guns are fully loaded and turn the safeties off while I think about my decision. So then I hear a knock on the door, and I decide what I’m gonna do. I stand beside the doorway and shout “Come on in!” When the door opens, I grab the guy and throw him on the fucking ground, then I put my nine in his face. It’s Johnnie.
I drop my gun and he’s all like, “What the fuck are you doing dude? Is this some kinda sick fucking joke?” and I tell him that I thought he was dead in a ditch somewhere. He then let me in on how the story actually went, turns out I was way wrong. The mood was pretty tense when the deal was going down, so Johnnie rolled this fat ass blunt to lighten things up a bit. We didn’t have a light on us so one of the guys we were doing business with reached into his jacket to get his shiny little Zippo. The deal went down fine – well, except for the fact that I forgot all my money and Johnnie had to spot me – and we were just chilling. Then a street lamp blew out – a flash and a bang – and we all start tripping out. Then we hear sirens and think that’s the police coming after us. We all freak out and start to run for our lives at that point. We hop a fence and Johnnie cuts his arm open. I try to help him out and he gets blood all over my fucking shirt. We get split up and I end up at my place with both mine and his share of the coke, and I just pass the fuck out.
Johnny fucking laughed in my face when I told him what I thought happened and joked around that I should get off that hard shit. I was just glad that nothing that bad actually happened. This whole ordeal almost scared me straight for a little while, almost.