Real N***a Life

Real N***a Life

A Story by Cameron
"

Women. Condoms. Money. The Life.

"
Real N***a Life

by
Cameron Davis



My nerves are neutral�"not too high�"not too low. Man I swear my Kush works like a magic trick!
I appreciate being in this mood 'cause I have no worries. My mind is at one with nature. I am in my zone. Zero f***s given. Zero f***s taken.
This suits me while driving on the highway. My windows are tinted Black as Batman. An old school joint is jamming through my speakers. I am listening to the Tom Joyner morning show on Star 94.5. I usually play my own CD's.
I call my s**t “Real N***a Radio.”
Traffic up ahead is at a minimum on the highway roads, which is a good thing. Less traffic will make it easier to spot cops. I stay on the lookout for “The man” since I drive in the fast lane.
Of course my phone is a transformer�"it changes into a laptop, a music outlet, and a cellular. Triple the production for double the money, in shorter terminology.
My inbox ring-tone goes off! I read the message while holding my steering
wheel. Its from my close friend Eric. It reads:
'Sup brother man. yo check this out. this b***h says she's HIV positive.'
Eric is referring to his girlfriend here. They have been on bad terms lately.
I write him back: 'NOT YOUR OLD LADY.'
My movable type is on caps lock for some ridiculous reason. I do it.
This is the size I was working in his girl. I didn't even mean to smash her. It just sorta happened. And now look: She's going crazy! Thank God I used a rubber.
Eric's next massage reads: 'Think she got mind control over me. ya boy is fixing to ditch this b***h bro. #real life'
I smile at this message. How cute. I text him for the final time, saying: 'hold your head up and pray about it while clutching onto a Jesus Piece'
'Im praying for you'
My exit is 2 miles ahead.
I turn my radio down by a notch or so. Women are so unpredictable. I try to figure them out. I love to do this it by getting inside. This is my job. That’s real n***a life.
I'll give my last name to one queen. The rest get the pipe.
Seeing a green light as I come off the highway, the gas petal is pushed with my new sneakers. I make the light, but the next one is slow as s**t. So I wait. I take a deep breath, and as I do, I notice a Jamaican flag on the car in front.
“One love,” I say to myself. N****s better get use to these foreign men: They are here to stay! The sad thing is that many are outdoing us Black Americans. At an alarming manner. It hurts my heart to know the Black American man is the weakest link in this s**t. Sad story.
The light changes.
Rubbing my hand over my head(my hairline is going bald), I reminisce on the past. Because I am glad that I made it out of the hood. Something alotta of my
counterparts can't say.
My dad was a dominant force in my life. Had it not been for his influence, God knows where I'd be...He was hard on me. This hardness made want to dominate everything that I did. My dad worked for a garbage truck.
They say it takes a village to raise a child. They weren't lying either. S**t ain't animated neither.
Guess how many of my peers made it out? N****s never known success. N****s just know being on the block and being broke all year. All you n****s thought I'd fall: B.A.D. As in a Big A*s Disappointment.
Had to prove everybody different.
I cruise smoothly past a line of fast food restaurants. A light ahead happens to change yellow. I debate whether I should run it: It will be close. Close indeed.
Yes. I go for it!
My ride is a Mercedes Benz, so you know its a speed demon. But, apparently, not fast enough!
I make it beyond the light, but seconds after all I see and hear are red and blue lights in my 'f****n rear-view. And cop car alarms: “Whoop! Whoop!”
I am tired of dealing with this noise...
In routine, I slow down to make sure that its me being pursued. And then I slowly change lanes and pull over on the shoulder. I do everything with Rhythm.
“How are you today,” the cop asks. “Know why I'm stopping you, Mr?”
This question is used to trap the driver. They want you to dig your own grave. I know this.
My hands go up in wonder. “Man, I have no idea. Could you tell me the problem? I mean, I honestly don't.” I scratch my scalp in confusion. This is all game. I am an actor.
“That last intersection. The light changed red but you, and your car, just
continued on. And, to me, it appeared you sped up--instead of slowing down and respecting the signal. Understand?”
He must have been lurking somewhere in the undone angles of my Mercedes! Not a speeding ticket!
“Sir,” I begin. “I'd never have cross the intersection if it was yellow. I don't believe in running red lights, man. I am a loyal driver�"No lie.”
As much as I want to argue, I hold it in. Its called The facts of life. We never b***h. Never snitch. Never hate. And never ran.
“Haha. Well my camera doesn't lie. You want to see it? I need to see your license, registration, proof of insurance. Please,” the officer requests. “Make it quick, sir.”
I told him it would be appreciated if he would let me go.
“Stay put,” he says after I hand him everything. Hurry. Stupid A*s B***h.
I have people to see and vagina to sex.
He returns with my s**t. “You sure took long enough.” I notice not one envelope.
“Listen sir. This is a public highway, West Colonial is. Therefore all vehicles using it are subject to misconduct by the Orange County Police. That's us,” he says. “I was going to write you a ticket but: Mercy. You don't deserve it. I ran your driver's license number through and found out you have a ticket due in two days. I didn't want to give you anymore headaches.”
“You serious? No lie officer?” I ask, all goody too shoes. “I swear on my grandfather's grave I recall nothing about a ticket. But I'll check if I can find a ticket any time in this future,” I lie.
“Be good.”
I grab my paraphernalia back. I crank my s**t up and hit it hard, past State Road 50. Always, I wait until the last minute to pay s**t.
'almost got another ticket. but these cricked a*s cops ain't got nothing on me. im a beast man'
I send this text through my multipurpose iPod.
'Im coming to your crib right now. im all fresh & clean so you better b same. better b wearing some of that s**t I bought you. & you better b baby powdered'
Finally, I run my n***a Eric's number through my cell. Or should I wait until I arrive at his girl's house? Either way I'll be sexing while he's stressing.

© 2012 Cameron


Author's Note

Cameron
this is a little urban

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Added on December 14, 2012
Last Updated on December 14, 2012
Tags: women, sex, money, success

Author

Cameron
Cameron

Tampa Bay, FL



About
I am content on establishing my way in the writing world. I see things differently and I write about the experiences I've gone through and the stuff that readers, especially youth can relate to. more..