Sometimes I worry about how open I am. Yet I still write shit down for all to see, my thoughts, my hopes, my experiences..
I know for certain I have lived more before the age of 25 than most people have their entire lifetime. That was then, now I adhere to a semi-workaholic existence.
I keep a steady paycheck and an interesting personal/love life. That is my routine and I enjoy it.
I used to live life a lot more exciting, and a whole lot differently.
"Oh fuck you Andre!, stop trying to showcase!" I understand if that might be something you are thinking to yourself.
I promise you that is not my intent.
I don't know, maybe I am peacocking, but the following is one of those life events that prove the aforementioned few sentences.
Here goes.
During high school I had a very good friend by the name of Darius. We eventually became roommates for a year while I was at San Jose State and we were both working at Earthlink. I was the one who got him the job, since he needed a desk job due to an injury he occurred in my presence.
A bullet through both of his legs.
Darius growing up lived next door neighbor to a guy name Bob. A longtime childhood friend of Darius, Bob lost his parents at a young age in a car accident, I believe, and lived with his grandma. Bob had no fear. I remember racing him on Highway 101 in my car during mid-day traffic. I rarely won. Bob didnt give a fuck. He would go on the side of the freeway, where it was just gravel, and kick up so crazy dust and smoke. Then when he saw an opening he would swerve back onto the highway.
Bob was a savage.
When Bob graduated high school he used the insurance money from his parents death and bought a condo. Darius and him moved in together.
The thing is, Bob had a baby momma who he basically disavowed because his Grandmother couldn't stand her, and for good reason. She was an evil cunt.
So B-oh-beeezes (aka BOB) and Darius' condo became the chill spot. We would bring back bitches, watch games, smoke, and all around hang out there.. it was off the chain for a hot minute.
Then Bob started selling crack. He didn't need the money, he just had that niggerish Nino Brown mentality and wanted to hustle.
As most things in the dope game went, he finally got caught up. He went to jail.
Now with Bob in jail his baby mom wanted that condo. She knew he was going to be gone for awhile and wanted the spot from Darius. Bob's grandma told Darius and her that it was Darius's decision. Darius said no.
She didn't take that lightly, not at all.
So one evening my cousin Terrance and I went to the condo to hang out with Darius before we were slated to go to a movie with a high school friend of ours Michelle V.
We called her and she said she was almost there.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door. We opened it to see two young black males. They asked if Bob was there. Darius promptly told them that he was currently locked up. They then asked to use the phone, a question Darius seemed unsure of. During that uncertainty two guns came out and they forced their way into the condo.
We were instructed to get on the floor and then we were beaten a few times with gun handles to our heads. Strangely enough I was not frightened. I have had a gun pulled on me and have been shot at a few times prior to this happening. I was more annoyed than anything. I even said, "This shit, again?!"
While we were on the floor Terrance was instructed to give them his watch. Which his smart ass replied with, "Come on man, its a fucking Swatch!"
I was told to give them my keys, to which I lied saying, "I didn't drive!"
Keys were in my pocket the entire time.
Then a shot rang out. A name was whispered in Darius's ear. They broke all the light bulbs in the lamps of the house. (even the police were baffled by that one)
They ran off.
Darius said he was hurt.
I went to him and saw blood gushing from his leg. Now while I wanted to help apply pressure to the wound I didn't want to ruin the shirt I was wearing. I had seen The Roots a few nights prior and was still wearing the concert shirt. I removed that shirt, then my wife beater and used that to press down hard on his bullet wound.
The police were called and eventually an officer showed up and very warily inspected the condo with his gun drawn.
The ambulance showed and the EMT's commended me on my applying pressure to his wound.
Then Michelle V. showed up and freaked out.
We were questioned by the detectives due to their assumption it was a drug deal gone bad. We didn't lie. We told them the truth. Everything matched up.
We called Darius's parents and met with them at the hospital prior to his surgery. It was going to take a few hours until we got any word on his condition. I went to my sisters house. I was stressed out.
Terrance took the time to fuck Michelle V. after knowing her for about 30 minutes.
Moral of the story is;
Oh what the fuck do I know.. my friend got shot, an undershirt was ruined, a condo was lost, and my family got some pussy during a moment of crisis.
Isn't life a trip?
