​Chapter 8: Boi I Aint Shit..

The walk to work felt longer than usual.

My feet heavy, my head low. I ain't never felt shame like this.

Not when I got jumped.

Not when I smoked for the first time.

Not even when I robbed that old junkie.

But my baby girl lookin’ at me like I was a stranger?

That shit hit different.

It sat on my chest like a weight I couldn’t shake.

And now, I was headed to a fuckin’ carnival like my life wasn’t crumblin’ apart.

As soon as I stepped into the parking lot, I spotted Kirk’s Chevelle sittin’ there, windows down, smoke curlin’ out.

I could smell that shit from across the lot—skunky, tangy, some high-grade shit.

I already knew who was inside.

Kirk and Keisha.

They was chillin’, laughin’ about somethin’, playing some Oran Juice Jones, same ol’ shit.

I walked up, pulled the door open, and slid into the back seat without a word.

Keisha turned, passed me the blunt, eyebrow raised. "Damn, nigga. You look like you just crawled out a grave."

I took the blunt, inhaled deep, held it till my lungs burned.

Let the smoke roll out slow.

"Shit," I muttered. "Might as well have."

Kirk glanced at me through the rearview. "What happened Nigga?”

I leaned back, still feelin’ bad bout what i had done did.

"Man, just some bullshit with Dreanna," I exhaled, rubbin’ my face. "I went over there to see Dominique, and this bitch got some nigga up in there. Half naked."

Keisha sat up straight. "Oh, HELL nah!"

She flicked the blunt out the window like she was gearin’ up for war.

"Joe, just say the word, I’ll beat that bitch ass."

I shook my head, still slumped in the seat. "Nah. We just need some space."

Kirk scoffed. "Nigga, what about your daughter?"

I closed my eyes for a second.

"Man, till I get back at them niggas, it’s best I keep my distance."

Kirk sucked his teeth. "Joe... what you plannin’?"

I grinned, but it ain’t reach my eyes.

"Cookin’ up an idea," I muttered. "I’ma let y’all know when I do."

The Rock Calls!!!

The blunt wasn’t hittin’ like it used to.

I passed it back, rubbin’ my palms together, feelin’ that itch.

Shit was crazy. Weed always used to be enough.

But not no more.

I sighed. "Man, this shit just ain't doin’ it for me no more."

Keisha gave me a look. "The fuck you mean?"

I reached into my pocket.

Pulled out the glass pipe.

Kirk froze, face twisted up. "Nigga... nah."

Keisha’s expression changed too, but hers was different. More curious than disgusted.

I grinned, set the rock in the pipe, flicked the lighter.

"Yeah," I muttered, voice almost a whisper. "I need some of this rock, baby."

The flame kissed the glass, the crack sizzled, and I took a long, deep pull.

Instant euphoria.

The world melted.

Colors sharpened.

Every nerve in my body came alive like I was reborn.

Back to Niggadise—where the water, the food, the air, hell, even the clouds, all got good ol’ crack rock in it.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh shit."

I let my head fall back against the seat, eyes rollin’ back, body shaking slightly’.

I was gone.

​

"Fuck naw, man. You buggin’."

Kirk’s voice cut through my high like a knife.

I barely had the energy to open my eyes, but I could feel his stare.

"You see yourself, nigga?" he spat. "Look at you."

I tried to wave him off. "Man... I’m chillin’..."

"Nigga, you tweakin’!"

I barely heard him, ‘cause Keisha was just starin’.

Not in disgust.

Not in fear.

In curiosity.

Like she was tryna figure out what I was feelin’.

She licked her lips, eyes flickin’ between me and the pipe.

"Damn," she muttered. "It’s like that, Joe?"

I barely lifted my head, still ridin’ the high. "Keisha... don’t."

She reached for the pipe.

I tried to pull it away, my hand barely workin’, but she was too quick.

Snatched it right outta my fingers.

"Keisha, don’t play with that shit, man!" Kirk snapped, lungin’ forward.

But it was too late.

She already flicked the lighter, brought the pipe to her lips.

I wanted to stop her.

But I couldn’t move.

I was too fuckin’ high.

Smoke filled the car.

The last thing I saw before the high took me under again?

Keisha, sittin’ back, eyes glossin’ over—just like mine did.