THE HERU SPECIAL

[K-Blao]

Wake up!  Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!  Wake up!

It's the first of the month...

So get up!  Get up!  Get up! Get up! Get up!

So cash your check and come on!

 

Mason woke up to the sound of his ringtone blasting the famous Bone Thugs record.  Even though he made more money than the average man, he still needed "trap music" like this in order to keep him motivated. 

He looked at his phone and saw a familiar number; Kevin.  To Mason and other people throughout the community, he was known as "Crackhead Kevin."  The blanket began to move and a beautiful face emerged from under. 

 

"Who is that?" Jasmine asked.

 

"Kevin," Mason replied.  Although, he already knew what Kevin wanted, he couldn't help but notice that it was a bit earlier in the day than normal.  Kevin would usually call around 1pm, but for some reason, today he decided to call at exactly 11:11am.  Kevin answered the phone.

 

"Come on, nigga," he said, then hung up.  There conversation no longer required actual conversation.  There was an unspoken agreement between the two of them; 

 

Mason sells drugs. 

 

Kevin buys and uses drugs.

 

Mason rolled over, thinking about getting out the bed.  Before he could finish that thought, Jasmine pressed her naked body against him and kissed him on the cheek.  Mason sniffed for a hint of morning breath, but found none.  Turned on by this, he returned a kiss on her lips.  This spiraled into a tongue kiss, then gently massaging her naked breasts.  She let out a moan, gave Mason an erection that made him feel as if he was back in high school.  He felt her warm hand reach down and caress his erection.

 

"Put it in," he commanded.

 

The knock at the door sounded like a lightning strike.  Mason's erection deflated like a popped balloon.  Jasmine pulled the blanket over her head and giggled.  Mason felt a sense of anger come over him.

 

"Man, who the fuck is it?"

 

"It's me," a familiar voice replied.  It was the same voice from the phone.  Kevin.

 

Mason reluctantly stood up picked his boxers off the floor.  "Man, what the fuck, did you run over here, nigga?" 

 

Jasmine chuckled as Mason walked over to the kitchen cabinet.  He opened the cabinet, which had a picture of his favorite cd cover taped to the inside door.  It said:

 

Trap or Die.

 

Mason reached into the cabinet and grabbed a container that was for sunflower seeds.  He opened the container and picked up his last two rocks of crack.  Gotta re-up, he thought. 

 

After the closing the cabinet, Mason walked over to the door and opened it.  On the other side of the door, stood a fragile man who appeared to be in his sixties, but probably was only in his forties.  His top and bottom teeth were missing in the front of his mouth.  His eyes appeared to be yellow, and bulging out of his head, but his face was sucked inward.  He body was shaking as he held out his hand, revealing a wad of moist one dollar bills.

 

"I got like three dollars in quarters too, fam," Kevin said while dropping the cash and coins in Mason's hand. 

 

"Nigga what the fuck I tell you about them quarters, fool?"  Mason sternly asked.

 

"I know, I know," Kevin stated, "but didn't nobody want to give me a solid dollar, so I said 'Fuck it.'"

 

Mason handed Kevin the two rocks.  "Man, get the fuck out of here nigga." 

 

Mason closed the door and walked back over to the bed.  As he prepared to pull the blanket back and look at his naked girlfriend, he took a second look at the blanket.  There was nobody there anymore.  He heard the shower water running in the next room.

 

Must be getting ready for work, he thought.  That's some straight up bullshit, but fuck it.  I'm going to call my freak later.

 

Mason walked over to his pants from yesterday that were still on the floor.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a nugget of marijuana that was inside a bag covered with Batman emblems.  He dropped his pants back on the floor and walked over to the kitchen table.  He picked up the latest rap magazine off the table and dropped the marijuana out of the bag onto the magazine.  As he began to break up the marijuana with one hand, he dialed a familiar number in his phone with the other hand.  He placed the phone up to his ear.  What he heard next shocked him.

 

The phone didn't ring.  It went straight to a recording.  The female voice spoke with a heavy Spanish accent and sounded afraid.

 

"Hello, if you are trying to reach Eddie, he was arrested yesterday and won't be out for some time.  Leave a message and I will get back to you.  Thank you."

 

As she started to repeat the same message in Spanish, Mason dropped the phone in shock.  He also dropped his marijuana, which snapped him out of the trance that he was in. 

 

"Shit!" he exclaimed, watching the buds fall to the carpet.  "What am I going to do?"

 

*****************

 

"Bay, I'm stuck," Mason said to Jasmine while exhaling weed smoke. 

 

"Why the hell are you really trying to smoke that in the shower?"  Jasmine asked while washing the conditioner out of her silky hair.  The strawberry smell turned Mason on once again, pushing his dilemma far from his mind. 

 

Mason stared at Jasmine's naked body, feeling his erection return.  Damn, she's bad, he thought.  Jasmine was a Cambodian girl from the south side.  She worked as a nurse's aid at the local Hospice.  She was very soft spoken and rarely ever got upset.  She was ultra-feminine.  One look in her eyes made Mason ask himself everyday how he got so lucky.  He smiled at her, exhaling weed smoke, watching the soapy water run down her tan body, then down the drain. 

 

"I'm stressing out figuring out how I'm gonna come up with the rent, bay."  

 

Jasmine rang the water out of her hair.  "Don't worry bay, my check will cover this month."

 

Mason smiled at the thought of this and smacked Jasmine on her naked behind.  He watched it jiggle, then fall back into place, turning him on even more.  "That's my baby, come here girl."  He pulled her naked body close to his and kissed her very deeply.  She once again began stroking his erection as he took another pull of the weed.  "I love you girl."

 

Jasmine smiled and got on her knees, holding his erection in her hand.  She looked directly at Mason.  "I love you too."

 

*******************************************

 

"Nigga, this some ol' bullshit," Mason said to himself as he closed the window on his computer that was on a porn site.  "How much jerking off can one man do?"  He tossed the used kleenex into the trash can and buckled his pants.  After fastening his belt, he dialed Eddie's line for the thirty third time in three days.  He received the same message;

 

"Hello, if you are trying to reach Eddie, he was arrested yesterday and won't be out for some time.  Leave a message and I will get back to you.  Thank you."

 

He had already left well over a dozen messages. 

 

Why the hell would she tell me to leave a message if she wasn't going to even bother calling me back?  Why does the recording still say "yesterday"?  When was it actually recorded?  How many days was Eddie actually in jail?  All this thinking is making a nigga want to smoke.

 

Mason walked over to the radio and turned on the CD player.  From the speakers blasted a familiar tune:

 

"Shit was all good just a week ago."

 

He proceeded to roll a blunt and light it, nodding his head to beat.  His thoughts returned to the porn video that he just watched. 

 

Them hoes was some freaks, man.  That's what I need.  Like two or three broads who can suck me off right til I skeet on all of them hoes.

 

The thought of this made him want to watch the video again.  He took three large hits of the blunt and put it out.  He unbuckled his pants again and walked over to the computer and turned it on. 

 

After this, I'm gonna call Eddie again.  He's gotta pick up this time.  What was that site again?

 

************************************

 

"Bitch, who the fuck are you talking to?  Do you know who the fuck I am?  I'm fucking crazy, bitch!  I will slice your fucking throat and watch you bleed to death while I smoke my cigarette, hoe!  You better recognize who the fuck you're dealing with!"

 

This is what Mason heard as soon as he turned on his tv.  It was an episode of the Bad Girls Club, or was it Jersey Shore?  Could have been one of those love shows, though.  He didn't know.  They all started to look the same to him.  As he flipped through the channels, he noticed that most of the programs were commercials.  When he got to a station that caught his attention, he lit  a blunt and paid attention.

 

There was an overweight black woman with a wig on pointing to a large picture of a child on the wall.

 

"Don't that look just like Deshawn, yall?"  The studio audience seemed to be in a chaotic state, debating on whether or not the child looked similar to the man in question.  Some people were clapping, some were yelling, and other people were swearing.  The tv kept bleeping every ten to fifteen seconds.  "You know that's your baby!  I don't know why you putting me through all this!  What did I ever do to you?"

 

"Bitch that ain't my baby!  We stopped *bleep!" two months after I got out of jail!  That baby was born exactly one year to the date of when I got out!  That's how I know it's some bull*bleep*!  That's how I know!  That's how I know!  You know what I'm saying?  That's I know, you feel me?"

 

"What about that one time, like two month's later when we was drinking that Remy over at Lil Figga's crib, and he ended up *bleep* that night?  What about that?"

 

The crowd went berserk.

 

"I ain't even skeet that night, so that don't even count!  Don't try that bullshit!  That's how you tried to get me to stay with your trifling ass last time!  I ain't going this time, you feel me?" 

 

The crowd began to boo.

 

"Well the test results are in!" said the host.  A large group of words flashed on the screen.

 

"THE RESULTS ARE IN!"

 

The crowd began to cheer very loud, as the host opened a manila envelope.  He pulled out a piece of paper and looked at it.

 

"When it comes to the case of two year old Natasha... Deshawn....You ARE the father!"

 

Deshawn's knees buckled under him as he tried to support himself on the chair.  "Awwwww...hell naw, man!"

 

The audience was in chaos.  People were yelling and swearing very loudly, as bleeps would drown out all the sound every ten to fifteen seconds. Women were yelling at their men and the men began yelling back.  Some people were just shaking their head looking very disappointed.

 

"I told you!" the woman exclaimed, fighting back tears and punching Deshawn's chest.  The security guard dressed in all black, seemed like he was trying to pull her away from him, but he wasn't doing a very good job.  In fact, it looked as if he was just standing there to make it "seem" as if he was pulling her away. 

 

"Didn't I tell you, Deshawn?  Didn't I tell you?  I can't believe you put me through this!"

 

Mason turned the tv back off and shook his head.  That's why I don't even watch that bullshit, he thought.

 

 *************************************

 

"I'm about to dunk on your ass, watch!  Watch!"

 

Lebron James brought the ball up court against his computer opponent.  There were only fifteen seconds left in the forth quarter.  Mason had a lead by thirty one.  The computer could never beat him anymore, now that he was so good in the game.  In fact, he didn't really even play this game anymore because it really doesn't excite him anymore.  The only reason he is playing it right now was because he was trying to keep himself entertained and not wasting his money.  It had been six days now and going on the seventh.  Jasmine worked over twelve hours a day, so she didn't spend much money either.  But Mason's stash was slowly getting lesser and lesser, due to the fact that he was smoking twice as much weed and cigarettes.  He didn't eat much.  Didn't have much of an appetite.  He probably had already lost about five pounds.  Playing this game whilst high was the only way to keep his mind off not being able to get in contact with Eddie.

 

I'm gonna need a new connect, he thought.  But where I'm I going to find one?  I'm going to have to hit the streets. 

 

He thought of a few of his "frenemies" that he could call and try to set something up with, but he didn't fully trust them.  He would only use them as a last resort. 

 

I could hit the strip club and talk to some of those hoes.  Them hoes snort everything.  Plus I could get bopped off by one or two broads.  I think I might do that.

 

Lebron James charged the hoop with four seconds left.  Mason pressed the button, and Lebron jumped in the air and proceeded to dunk on the computer opponent, who fell on his back.  The rim let out a loud "thud" sound as the ball went into the basket.  The horn sounded.  Game over.

 

Mason dropped the controller, walked over to his cell phone and picked it up.  He walked over next to the CD player and plugged his cell phone in so it could charge.  He turned on the CD player and one of his favorite songs  came on.

 

"Now what the hell are you waiting for?  After me there shall be no more, so for one last time I want ya'll to roar!"

 

He lit up his blunt and proceeded to the shower.  While taking a few pulls of the blunt, he began taking off his clothes. 

 

I love smoking a blunt in the shower, he thought.  Helps me think.

 

****************************************************

CHAPTER 2

"Lyrically, niggas can't see me. Fuck it./

Buy the coke, cook the coke, cut it./

Know the bitch, before you call yourself loving it./

Nigga with a benz fucking it./"

 

 

Mason's music blasted from the back of his trunk.  It almost seemed like a science experiment.  

 

The ground shook underneath him, as heads turned to see who was responsible.  His silver BMW

 

commanded attention as he cruised up the block with his hat so low, people couldn't see who was

 

driving.  The sunlight caused his jewelry to sparkle through the tinted windows that were let

 

down just enough for the weed smoke to hop over the top, as if it was trying to escape.  As

 

Mason's eyes got redder, the music seemed to sound better.  

He could feel the bass shaking the buildings.  He could hear car alarms going off as he drove

 

pass.  He loved when people turned their head in his direction and would rap along with the

 

words, making it seem as if live were a movie for a moment, and everyone was singing along to his

 

tune.  

Mason pulled into the local gas station, scraping the bottom of his bumper that was lower than

 

most cars.  Although he felt it, he couldn't hear the loud scrape that made pedestrians cringe

 

upon hearing it.  This happened at least five times a day. As he pulled up to pump 4, he saw an

 

old friend walk out of the gas station.

 

"Watayachatadatagelacka?" the man yelled as he approached the car.

 

This made absolutely no sense to Mason, because all he could hear was the music.  As his friend

 

approached, Mason had a funny feeling.  It seemed as if he had dreamed this very moment before.  

 

The way the light was shining on his friend.  The exact angle that his friend was approaching

 

him.  The falcoln that was on his t-shirt.  The color of his clothes and the way the sunlight was

 

reflecting off of them.  It all seemed to happen in slow motion.  Mason was sure that he had

 

dreamed this moment before.  

He turned the music down and felt overcome by an indescribable feeling.  He didn't know whether

 

to smile or keep a serious face.  He hadn't seen Horace in well over ten years.  Horace had

 

gotten arrested back then for violating his probation.  Mason didn't know exactly what the charge

 

was, but whatever it was, it was serious enough to put this man away for a long time.

Which is exactly why Mason had a strange feeling as he cut the music down and looked into

 

Horace's eyes.  Something about his eyes made Mason lose direct eye contact.  He looked down at

 

his shoe that was pressing on the brake pedal.  Why he did this, he didn't even know himself.  

 

Something about Horace's presence was very powerful.

 

"What up, fam?"  Mason said, as he tried to directly look at Horace.  He still was overcome by

 

the urge to look away.

 

"What are you trying to do, get locked up?" Horace, repeated.

 

They both bursted out into laughter, which made Mason feel much more at ease.  Horace reached in

 

to the passenger side window and shook hands with Mason.  

 

"What's good with you, G?"  Horace asked with a blank expression on his face.

 

Mason picked up his blunt but didn't light it.  He wasn't aware of his nervous energy.  "Shit

 

man, I should be asking you that shit, man.  When did you get out?  What you been on?"

 

Horace smiled, crossed his arms and stood back.  The light seemed to hit him in a way that he

 

seemed to be aware of how the sunlight was hitting him.  Mason felt uncomfortable by this.  How

 

was it that he seemed to be aware of how the sunlight was hitting him?

 

"I got out about four months ago.  What's your name again?"  Horace asked.

 

Mason was a little startled by this question, but he quickly answered, "Mason.  I used to rap

 

with K-Blao and HoodX and them."

 

"Right, right!" Horace recalled.  "Styxx little brother, K-Blao, right?"  

 

"Yeah," Mason replied, lowering his head.  He almost felt embarressed to say that he used to rap.

 

 The way rap sounded nowadays was the reason that he stopped rapping.  Even though Mason still

 

bought and listened to rap music on bootleg cd's, he still did not like the way it sounds

 

nowadays in comparison to the rap that he used to listen to.

 

"I'mma Kill You to Death?" Horace asked as if he were trying to remember it properly.

 

"Yeah," Mason replied again, feeling almost robotic.  He did not like the way this conversation

 

was going.  "I'mma Kill You to Death" was his single that he submitted to the local radio station

 

back then.  The radio played the single during their "Hit It or Quit It" segment, where they play

 

strictly new artist's music. The listerners call in to vote on the record, in order to determine

 

whether or not to continue playing the record on a regular basis.  "I'mma Kill You to Death

 

recieved an overwhelmingly negative response.  In fact, the radio station used that song as an

 

example of "what not to do" when making a record.  Over a period of six months, the radio

 

publicly dissed his record, mainly due to the overwhelmingly negative response.  Mason hates when

 

anyone brings that up.  It was a ten year old memory that he wished would just die.

 

"Yeah, I thought that shit was kinda tight at the time," Horace said.

 

Mason did not expect this.  Even though took it as a gesture of kindness from Horace, he still

 

did not want to continue with this conversation.

 

"Get out of here!  But what you been on, you still serving?"  Mason asked.

 

Horace tilted his head.  "Why you ask me that?"

 

Mason felt like he was playing a game at this point.  Horace knew something that he was keeping

 

secret.

 

"Because my connect got locked the fuck up and I need a new connect."

 

Horace reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds.  He popped a few of

 

them in his mouth and began to crack the seeds.

 

"Shit, I might be able to help you out.  What you on right now?"

 

Mason shrugged his shoulders.  "Shit, you see it.  Riding, smoking.  I got some 1800 tequila in

 

the back seat.  I got my tv's in the headrest.  I'm chilling, shit, hop in."

 

Horace stood absolutley still for about five seconds.  This made Mason's heart start beating a

 

little harder.  He was aware of it because he was high.

 

"Shit take me to go get something to eat, so we can talk," Horace said in a voice that was almost

 

hypnotic.  

 

As Horace reached for the door handle, Mason unlocked the door.  Horace sat in the car and closed

 

the door.  Mason lit the blunt and attempted to pass it to Horace.  Horace declined.

 

"You know they got my ass on papers, G.  I can't even fuck around."

 

Mason shook his head.  "That's fucked up, man."

 

Horace put on his sunglasses as Mason accelerated out of the gas station.  

 

"Shit, where you trying to eat?"

 

Horace spit a few sunflower seed shells out the window.  "Shit, just hit a Wendy's or something.  

 

I just want to grab something real quick."

 

Mason headed toward the Wendy's that was only a few blocks away.  He took a few more hits from

 

his blunt and turned the music back up.  

 

"What do you do when your bitch is untrue?/

You cut the hooker off and find someone new./

I need another bitch.  Another bitch./

In my life./

 

As soon as he heard the bass hit, he remembered why Horace was in the car.  He turned the music

 

back down.  "Man, what did you get popped off for again?"

 

"Drugs and guns," Horace replied as he spit more shells out the window.  

 

Mason felt good inside for some reason.  The energy that Horace was giving off was a great

 

feeling.  It was like a guru teacher explaining a new artform to a student.  But Mason felt much

 

wiser than this guru, because this guru "fell off", and Mason is still on.  He knew that he could

 

use Horace's help.  But he also knew that Horace could never outsmart him.

 

 

"Damn," Mason said with a smile on his face.

 

"Yeah Smith got my ass real good that day," Horace said.

 

Mason didn't know who Smith was, but he assumed it was the police officer who arrested him.  

 

"What you been doing since you got out?"

 

"Shit, fighting Smith.  That's why I really can't even fuck around with shit right now, G."

 

Mason felt a little confused by what Horace was saying, but what it seemed like he was saying was

 

that he's not able to sell drugs because his entire life is under a microscope. But this also

 

made him wonder whether or not Horace was going to be able to help him find a new connect.

 

"You don't know anyone where I can get some work?" Mason asked, almost sounding desperate.

 

Horace froze again for about five seconds.  His odd behavior was throwing Mason's high off.  It

 

was making Mason notice small things in Horace's behavior.  It seemed as if jail had gotten to

 

him.

 

"I know the perfect person for you to meet," Horace replied.

 

Just as he said that, Mason's phone rang.  "Smith," Horace said.

 

Mason reached for his phone on his hip.  Smith?  Why would he want me to meet Smith? Mason

 

thought.  Didn't he just say that was the guy who locked him up and he's been "fighting?"  

 

Mason looked at the name calling that was on his cell phone.  It was his stepmother, Sarah.  It

 

must be important because she never calls.  Horace spit more shells out the window as Mason

 

answered the phone.

 

"Hello?" Mason asked, still observing Horace from the corner of his eye.

 

"Hey, Mason it's Sarah.  How are you doing?"

 

"I'm cool.  What's good?"

 

"Are you busy?"

 

"Kinda, what's good?"

 

"Your dad is in the hospital.  It looks like he has cancer in his liver."

 

Mason didn't feel moved at all.  In fact, he was more moved by the fact that he wasn't moved.  

 

"When did this happen?"

 

"We took him this morning.  Me and my mom.  He was having trouble walking and urinating for the

 

past couple of days, and today, he just couldn't seem to walk at all.  We're in the emergency

 

room right now, and they are going to admit him in a few hours.  We're staying overnight."

 

Mason felt the urge to ask what hospital and what were the visiting hours, but he ignored that

 

urge.  "Okay, let me call you right back because I'm at work."

 

There was a slight awkward pause.  Sarah knew what this meant.  "Okay."

 

Mason hung up the phone and turned his music up, taking another hit of the blunt.  

 

"Seven. Now this rule is so underrated./

Keep your family and your business completely seperated./

Money and drugs don't mix. Like two dicks and no bitch./

Find yourself in serious shit./

 

He didn't have time to think about that.  His father was going to be fine.  He could only focus

 

on one thing. Finding a new connect.  He would go visit his father once he found his connect.  

 

"Nigga, you about to pass it up," Horace said.

 

Mason snapped back to his reality as he saw the Wendy's on the driver side of his car go past

 

him. Horace was pointing at it as they drove past. Mason quickly turned the music back down and

 

focused.

 

"Man, just for a quick second, I forgot you was even in the car, fam," Mason said, chuckling. Was

 

it the phone call?  Or was it the weed?  Or was it the excitement of finding a new connect?

 

Mason quickly pulled into the parking lot next to the Wendy's.  There were groups of young men

 

selling bootleg cd's, towels, t-shrits, weed, coke, and loose cigarettes.  They all seemed to

 

approach Mason's car at the same time.  

 

"I got movies, fam!" one man yelled out.

 

"Weed!  Weed!  Weed!" another one yelled.

 

"Loose squares!"  another man exclaimed.

 

Mason waived his hand and said "Naw, I'm straight!"  He quickly turned his car around and pulled

 

out of the parking lot, and into the Wendy's parking lot.  Horace mumbled something else about

 

"Smith" and shook his head.

 

"Motherfuckers will try to sell you anything," Mason said.

 

Horace spit the last of his sunflower seed shells out the window.  "Yeah, man.  Everybody gotta

 

sell you something at some point. He said as he rolled up his window and got out the car.  Both

 

windows went up with a buzz sound.

 

Mason closed his door at the exact same time with Horace.  They both headed into the Wendy's.

 

********************************************

 

"Hello, welcome to Wendy's may I take your order?"

 

The cashier was a girl who was pretty, but not gorgeous.  She stood at about five feet even, long

 

waivy hair that was in a bun, light tan skin, and an athletic build.  Normally Mason wouldn't

 

even notice this girl, but she was the only cashier who was not black.  In fact, she was the only

 

employee who was not black.  She appeared to be either Mexican or Puerto Rican.  Subconsciously,

 

Mason was comparing her to the black girls at the other registers, and she appeared to be the

 

prettiest.  This made Mason want to see if he could get her phone number.

 

"Depends on what type of orders you're used to taking," in a commanding tone.  He looked directly

 

into this girl's eyes.  She blushed, then rolled her eyes, letting out a playful smile.  The

 

black girl's eyes on the register to the right looked in their direction.  A few other people

 

looked in their direction as well.  They all seemed like they wanted to know what was going to

 

happen, but nobody wanted to appear too interested.

 

Horace, standing behind Mason, laughed a little.  Mason perched himself up and stood confidently

 

in front of this girl.  

 

"I mean food, crazy man," the girl replied while smiling.

 

Mason smiled as well.  "How about I tell you what I want to eat after you tell me what's your

 

name."

 

The girl's smile disappeared as more customers entered the resturant, and she noticed the lines

 

getting longer.

 

"Come on, my lines are getting long, I don't have time to play with you," the girl said.

 

"So basically, what you're saying is, that you can't play right now, but you'd like to play

 

later?"

 

A sense or agitation came over the girl's face.  Mason felt a touch on his back.

 

"Come on, G, you holding up her line," Horace said into Mason's ear.

 

"Alright, alright," Mason said.  He proceeded to order a two burgers that consisted of three beef

 

patties, bacon, and cheese.  He also ordered a large coke and fries, seeing how it was only fifty

 

cents more than the small order.  Horace ordered two salads from the dollar menu.  They sat down

 

in the resturant and began eating.

 

"I could have bagged that girl if you wasn't rushing me," Mason stated while biting into his

 

burger and stuffing fries in his mouth.

 

Horace bit into his burger.  "Man, why would you want a girl like that anyway?"

 

"She was pretty," Mason said.

 

"Yeah, but so what.  Do you think she would fuck with you if you were working here?"  

 

Mason took a long sip of his ice cold coke.  "Doubt it."

 

"Exactly then.  So why would you lower your standards to a girl that works at Wendy's?  Ain't no

 

girl about to meet no guy that works up in no Wendy's and fall in love with him."

 

"Hold on!"  Mason exclaimed, with pieces of beef falling out of his mouth.  "Ain't nobody said

 

shit about falling in love."  By the time Mason finished saying this, there was food all table

 

that was falling out of his mouth.  Horace continued eating his salad.

 

"Yeah but you know what I mean, man.  If you were working behind the counter, and she walked in,

 

and you were trying to holler at her, that conversation would last about ten seconds, if that."

 

Mason understood what Horace was trying to say, but he seemed to be overanalyzing the situation.  

 

"Man, I ain't trying to wife the hoe or nothing.  I was just flirting with her to see where it

 

would go."

 

Horace swallowed some of his salad.  "Oh, just flirting?"  

 

Mason stuffed more fries in his mouth.  "Yeah, man.  I got a girl.  I ain't worried about no

 

bitch that work at Wendy's."

 

"Oh, ok." Horace said while opening his second salad.  "Cause I'm married too, but I really don't

 

get the urge to flirt with these broads."

 

Mason shook his head.  "See, I didn't say 'married'.  I just live with my girl, but we're not

 

married."

 

"Why not?" Horace asked while pouring dressing on his second salad.

 

"Man, women don't want marriage.  They just want a wedding."

 

This statement made Horace freeze for a few seconds.  Mason realized at that moment what he was

 

doing.  Whenever he paused like that, he seemed to be taking in a thought.

 

"You say they just want a wedding?"

 

Mason opened his second burger.  "Yeah, man.  Women will marry a man that they don't even love

 

sometimes.  Just to try to give the image to her friends and family that she's not just getting

 

fucked by a man who won't fully commit to her.  They want to feel like there's a guy out there

 

who is going to love them no matter what they do.  But as soon as you marry them, they change."

 

"Change how?"

 

"Because, they know that you're not going anywhere.  Men never leave their woman.  They cheat,

 

but they never actually leave until they get busted.  Sometimes they'll feel guilty and tell the

 

wife, then she will leave.  But you really don't see men just up and leave their woman."

 

"Hmmmmm."  Horace thought to himself.  "So you say, men don't really leave women?"

 

"Nope.  No matter what women do.  Men put up with a lot of shit from women.  They think it's a

 

'guy thing' to see how much shit you can tolerate from your woman.  It's 'masculine'.  But

 

masculinity is a black hole."  He bit into his second burger.

 

Horace chewed his salad.  "Black hole?"

 

"Yeah, man.  Define 'masculine'."  Mason stuffed more fries into his mouth and sipped his soda.

 

Horace sipped some water.  "You mean, like a man.  Strong.  Confident."

 

"That's it?  A woman can be strong and confident too, but that doesn't mean that she's masculine.

 

 Masculinity is only defined by women.  They use it as a way to control us.  One week they will

 

say jeans are masculine.  Next week, khaki's are masculine.  Keeping your hair cut low is

 

masculine.  But having a fro is masculine.  A wife beater t-shirt is masculine, but a suit and

 

tie is masculine too.  It's a black hole.  Any thing can be masculine." Mason continued to chew

 

his burger and realize that it was getting smaller.  He thought of ordering one more.

 

"So you think women control us through our masculinity?"

 

"Man, look at the word itself.  Mask.  You.  Line.  That means you put a mask on and hop your ass

 

in line."  They both laughed as Mason took a big bite out of his burger.  Horace finished his

 

second salad and took a sip of his water.

 

Mason continued.  "A lot of men seriously consider suicide when they break up with their woman.  

 

This is kind of like samurai's kill themselves when they lose a fight.  It's the 'masculine'

 

thing to do.  It's bullshit.  Once men define themselves as a certain type of worker, lover, or

 

fighter, or whatever, they tie their masculinity to that flag.  Once that flag goes down, we feel

 

like our masculinity dies with it.  We don't want to change. We feel like we're already defined.

 

But it's all an illusion.  Women know some of this.  They know men get stuck in their ways and

 

don't change.  They think we're stupid for this, but they won't be happy until we keep changing

 

to the point that we're borderline homo's.  They'll put you in a dress and put make up on you if

 

you let them.  Fuck that."

 

Horace seemed like he understood what Mason was saying, but he also seemed a bit confused.  "So

 

you saying that men shouldn't marry women?"

 

"Not exactly," Mason replied.  "It's just that men shouldn't lower their value to women."

 

"Well isn't that what you were doing by talking to a girl that works at Wendy's?"  Horace asked.

 

Mason laughed at himself.  "I guess so.  I really didn't look at it like that."

 

Horace sipped more of his water.  "Sometimes women want to be right with God.  That's why they

 

want to get married."

 

"Man, these hoes don't really believe in God," Mason responded coldly.  He placed the last piece

 

of his burger in his mouth.

 

"What you mean?" asked Horace.  "It's plenty of women in the church who believe in God."

 

"Man, them hoes believe in Santa Clause before they believe in God."

 

"Get the fuck out of here."

 

"Yeah, man.  How you believe in God, but then you walk out the church and walk right past a dozen

 

crackheads to get to your car? How you believe in God, but then go home and watch movies with

 

cussing, killing, and sex?  How you believe in God, but you watch BET, with half naked women

 

shaking their ass and singing songs about fucking and seduction?  Have you watched a reality show

 

recently?  All they do is talk shit and fight.  And women love that shit.  They come home right

 

from church and watch that shit.  They turn on the radio and listen to songs about bullshit.  

 

Motherfucking Christians are phony as hell.  As a matter of fact, Jews don't even fucking believe

 

in Jesus.  But Christians will respect a Jew before they respect my opinions.  And I actually

 

believe in Christ.  How you gonna respect a motherfucker who don't even believe in your Christ,

 

then turn around and tell your family members that they ain't shit because they don't go to your

 

church?  Hypocrites!  They'll go to the movies and support those Jews, then turn their noses up

 

at their own family members.  They don't even know who their enemies are."

 

"How do you believe in Christ but you sell dope?"  Horace asked.

 

"Huh?" Mason asked.

 

"You say you believe in Jesus, but you sell dope.  And you live with a woman who you're not

 

married to.  You listen to the same type of music.  Watch the same type of movies.  But you say

 

you believe in Jesus.  So aren't you just as guilty?"

 

Mason didn't intend on defending his character.  He didn't actually think that Horace would ask

 

that question.  "God knows what's in my heart.  I can't help it if I'm in a fucked up situation.  

 

It's like a victim of circumstance."

 

"So you're a victim?" Horace asked.

 

"Yeah.  We're all victims.  Look at the system.  It's fucked up."

 

"Yeah we know that, but what about you?  What are you going to do to be different?"

 

Mason shrugged his shoulders.  "Ain't shit I can do.  Shit is fucked up."

 

Horace sat back.  "Once there was a child who came home from school everyday.  Now the child's

 

parents worked until seven o'clock every night, so he would stay home after school every day

 

until his parents got home at about seven-thirty.  One day his father came home and the house was

 

in chaos.  The child had completely wrecked the house.  There was shit everywhere.  Now the

 

father was so tired, that he didn't even want to discipline the child.  He brought the child to

 

him and looked him in the eye.  He said

 

'Son, I'm very tired.  I've had a long day.  All you have to do is be honest, and I won't punish

 

you.  Did you wreck the house?'

 

The son came up with every excuse in the book about what happened to house.  He talked about a

 

program on television that told him to try wreckless behavior at home.  He blamed the radio and

 

the songs coming out of the speakers.  He blamed the house for being too small.  He blamed his

 

kid sister.  He even blamed his parents for leaving him at home by himself.  Enraged by his

 

lying, the father took deep breaths and calmed down.  He told his son that he was going to give

 

him one more chance to come clean, and he would not be punished. Again, the son went on about how

 

it wasn't his fault because of so many reasons.  The father beat the shit out of him.

 

This is similar to the story of when you die, an angel is going to smack you on the head with a

 

hammer and wake you up out of your death sleep.  And you're going to look to your left, and you

 

are going to see hell.  And because of all the roasting flesh, torture, bloodcurdling screams,

 

and torture, you're going to know with a one-hundred and twenty percent surety that what you are

 

looking at is hell.  Then you're going to look to the right.  And because of the peaceful tone of

 

music, the bright warm light, and your family members waiting for you, you're going to know with

 

out a doubt in your mind, that what you are looking at is heaven. Then the angel is going to ask

 

you three questions.

 

'Who is your God?'

'What is his name?'

'What books did you read?'

 

You're going to try to start reasoning.  'Oh shit was fucked up bla bla bla.'  The angel is going

 

to ask you one more time:

 

'Who is your God?'

'What is his name?'

'What books did you read?'

 

If you try to start reasoning again, he's going to grab you by your neck and throw your ass into

 

the fire."

 

Mason felt uneasy by this.  He swallowed the rest of his soda and felt a bad feeling come over

 

him.  Suddenly, he felt very tired and sleepy.  I think I need a cigarette, he thought to

 

himself.

 

Horace continued.  "The body kind of naturally leans toward evil shit.  We know this.  But the

 

only way you can lean that way and still feel comfortable is through justificaion and reasoning.  

 

It's still wrong.  Just because you can explain it really well doesn't mean that it's right.  You

 

still have a choice.  You always have a choice."

 

Mason almost felt offended, but he was too tired to even feel insulted.  He felt his eyes getting

 

lower as a sleepy feeling began to take over.  "Man, that burger kind of fucked me up. I think I

 

need a cigarette.  Let's go outside and get some fresh air."

 

Horace smiled.  "With a cigarette?"

 

*****************************************************

 

Now go to sleep bitch!

Die, motherfucker, die! Ugh, time's up, bitch, close ya eyes

Go to sleep, bitch! (what?)

Why are you still alive? How many times I gotta tell ya, close ya eyes?

And go to sleep bitch! (what?)

Die motherfucker die, bye, bye, motherfucker, bye, bye!

Go to sleep bitch! (what?)

Why are you still alive? Why, die motherfucker, ah, ah, ah...

...Go to sleep bitch!

 

 

"So you gonna call your boy Smith or what?"  Mason asked as he chucked his cigarette butt into a

 

bush.  He started the car and exited the parking lot.  His stomach felt a bit uneasy as he

 

started to feel tired.

 

Horace paused for a few seconds.  "What?  Why the hell would I do that?"

 

Mason got visibly irritated.  "Because you said he was the dude that was gonna get me some work."

 

Horace laughed to himself and tilted his head to the side.  "That's crazy!  When did I say that?"

 

Mason tried to relax himself and took a few steps back.  "When we were in the car nigga!  What

 

the fuck is wrong with you?  You don't remember saying you was gonna get me some work?"

 

"Yeah, I remember saying I'm gonna get you some work, but when did I say I was gonna call Smith

 

to get it?"

 

"When we were in the car!"  Mason felt a sense of sleepiness come over him.  He did not feel like

 

arguing.  He felt his eyes getting very heavy and his body felt the same.

 

Horace shook his head.  "I would never say something like that.  I don't remember saying that.  

 

But I can get you some work though.  Best work you ever had.  On consignment too, probably if I

 

put in a good word for you."

 

Mason smiled.  He loved the idea of getting the work without having to put any money up in

 

advance.  "When can you do this?"  Mason felt his bed calling him.

 

Horace reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.  He dialed a few numbers and put the

 

phone up to his ear.  After a few seconds he began to speak.  "What's good Godbody, I'mma need

 

the Heru special."  There was a pause.  "Okay, ten-four."  Horace hung up the phone and put it in

 

his pocket.  He looked at Mason.  "You're going to have to meet him on the beach tomorrow morning

 

at 4:30am."

 

Mason's face appeared irritated once again.  "4:30?  In the morning?  What the fuck type of shit

 

is that?"

CHAPTER 3

I jog in the graveyard

Spar in the same ring

Now it's house by the building

Where Malcolm X was slain

I spring train in the winter

Round early December

Run suicide drills over and over

With the weight of the world on my shoulder

 

 

"Man what the fuck type of shit is this?"

 

The music crept out of the car as Mason stood barefoot in the beach water that kept washing to shore.  Horace stood next to him with sandles on, looking into the distance.  It was exactly 4:30am.  

 

"Where is dude?" Mason asked.  "We agreed 4:30am exactly.  I could still be in the bed."

 

"He'll be here," Horace replied.

 

Mason looked down at his cell phone in his hand.  "I'm leaving in three minutes."

 

Horace sighed.  "What the fuck else do you have to do?  You're already up.  Where do you have

 

to be?  Quit being so dramatic and chill out.  He'll be here."

 

Mason picked up a handful of sand and let it fall between his fingers.  Just as the wind blew

 

he sand into the air, a head popped up from underneath the water about fifty feet out into the

 

distance.  Mason took notice of this and pointed at him.  "Who the fuck is that?"

 

Horace looked into the distance and saw the man swimming in their direction.  "That's him."

 

The man was swimming toward them like an Olympic champion.  It was as if the waves had no

 

effect on his ability to cut through the water and pust harder with each stroke.  After about

 

forty-five seconds, this unknown was standing right in front of Mason.

 

"Is this the guy?" he asked Horace, while still keeping his eyes locked directly into Mason's

 

eyes.  

 

"That's him," Horace replied.

 

Mason looked at this man.  He stood about six feet two inches.  He had an athletic build even

 

though he was slim.  His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like

 

the sound of rushing waters.

 

"You trying to get rich nigga?"  the unknown man asked.

 

"Hell yeah," Mason replied.

 

"Good," the unknown man replied.  "Follow me."  He turned around and began walking out into

 

the water.  Mason semmed reluctant to follow.

 

"Man, I ain't trying to go all the way out there in that cold ass water, nigga.  Just because

 

you think you Supernigga, don't mean I'm gonna try the same shit."

 

 

The man didn't reply.  He just kept walking.  Still high, by the time Mason noticed the water

 

splashing under the man's feet, he had already ducked his head under the water and

 

disappeared.

 

"Fuck," Mason uttered to himself as he turned to Horace.

 

Horace shrugged his shoulders and smiled.  "Hey, don't look at me, nigga.  You want the

 

connect, your ass better swim."

 

Mason shook his head and headed toward the water.  He removed his white gold chain and

 

jewelry. He took his earrings off and placed all his jewelry in his $300 pair of Air Jordan's.

 

 He then proceeded to take off his $200 pair of jeans and $150 shirt.  He neatly folded them

 

and placed them on top of the shoes.  Lastly, he removed his $150 "Buck-Fifty" hat and placed

 

it on top of his neatly folded clothes.  

 

Horace began to laugh.  "Man, you look like a whole nother nigga!"  

 

Mason stood their, slightly embarressed.  He had on a pair of "tighty-whiteys", as he kept his

 

hands to his chest, trying to keep warm from the cool breeze that was blowing through.  It was

 

a nice day out, but it was just a little bit windy.

 

Mason tip-toed out to the shore, as he saw a head pop up from under the water about thirty

 

feet away.  "Come on nigga, quit acting like a bitch!"

 

Horace snorted out a laugh and tried to catch his breath.  "Nigga, go!  Quit being scary!"

 

Mason tip toed out a little bit more.  He felt the cold water spread over his feet and up his

 

ankles.  He shivered.  "Man this shit is cold!"  

 

"Last chance, nigga!"  the unknown man exclaimed, as he went under again.

 

Mason took a hard look at the cold water as his lower teeth began to repeatedly chatter

 

against his upper teeth.  Man, fuck it, he thought.  

 

Mason ran at full speed and dove head first into the water.  As soon as the shock of the cold

 

water went away, he felt peaceful.  It was so quiet.  He liked it here.  He was just floating

 

in a silent space with his eyes closed.  He realized that he hadn't felt this relaxed in a

 

long time.  Suddenly, he was overcome with the urge to swim.  He began swimming out into the

 

distance.  His legs felt like they were pumping.  His arms felt a surge of energy.  He drove

 

foward pounding his entire body against the water.

 

I'll show them, he thought.  I'm going to beat this man at his own game.  Old fool didn't know

 

I could swim.

 

After Mason got out about thirty feet, he noticed that he had to stand on his toes to keep his

 

head above water.  There was not much ground under his feet.  The waves slightly pushed him

 

back toward the shore, and he fought against it.  The waves got bigger as he kept going.  He

 

noticed that when the waves sank, he would not be able to keep his balance as good.  That's

 

when the unknown man popped up.  It seemed as if he was riding the wave with no surf board.  

 

He crashed right into Mason and grabbed him by the neck.  Both of their bodies were swallowed

 

by a giant wave as they went under the water.  Mason tried to stand up, but he was overtaken

 

by the strength of the unknown man.  He felt the man's hands cover his face and neck from

 

behind.  

 

What the hell?  Mason thought.

 

He felt the man's legs wrap around Mason's ankles as he locked his body against him.  His hand

 

was like a steel weld over Mason's mouth and nose.

 

He's drowning me!

 

Mason tried to reach and pull the man's hands off his nose, but it only seemed to hold on

 

tighter.  Mason tried to kick his legs, but they were locked.  He was losing energy fast.

 

Fuck, I'm going to die!  Mason thought to himself as he felt the air in his lungs escaping

 

fast.  The urge to breath in was putting so much pressure on him, he felt himself starting to

 

black out.

 

Why his he doing this?  Is he a cop or something?  Why would Horace set him up?  Why did I

 

even follow this man into the water?  What the fuck was I thinking?  What about Jasmine?  What

 

about my dad?  What about Sarah?  How are they going to know that I'm dead?  

 

The pressure kept building in on his chest until it felt like he was going to explode.  He

 

started to think thoughts about taking in just a little water in his lungs and control his

 

breathing to hang on.  At that very moment, the man pulled Mason out of the water and seemed

 

to throw him fifteen feet.  He couldn't tell if it was the wave that carried him, or the man's

 

energy alone, but the force was extreme.  Mason took a deep breath as he landed on about five

 

feet away from the shore.  He stumbled and fell over into water that was just above his

 

underwear.  

 

This shit is crazy, Mason thought.  Fuck this.  I'm about to whoop this old nigga's ass.  Why

 

the fuck would he bring me out here to do this?

 

Mason looked around for the man, but he was not in sight.  More waves crashed in as Mason

 

turned around and saw Horace.  He had a huge smile on his face.

 

"Horace, what the fuck?" Mason exclaimed in a loud tone.  He heard his voice echo two or three

 

times in the distance.  Nobody else was out there but them.  There was no traffic, no police,

 

no anything.

 

"Take it easy!"  Horace yelled back.  "It's cool, you're okay."

 

The unknown man popped up from under the water.  He was about ten feet away from Mason.  The

 

water was still up to his chest.  "You okay?"

 

Mason was thrown off by this question, but his temper got the best of him.  "Man, what the

 

fuck type of shit is you on, nigga?  You trying to drown me?  Why the fuck you bring me out

 

here on a goddamn beach at 4:30 in the morning to get naked so you can wrestle with me in the

 

water?  What the fuck is y'all on?"

 

"I only have one question for you," the man said.

 

Mason was not trying to hear this man, yet he was not going to attack him.  He seemed to have

 

some type of super strength or military training.  There must be some point in him trying to

 

kill me then save my life.

 

"What?"  Mason asked.

 

"When you were under the water just now, what did you want to do?" the unknown man asked.

 

Mason's face got very angry.  "What the fuck type of dumb ass question is that?  I wanted to

 

breath!"

 

The unknown man went into a rage.  "When you want to be successful as bad as you want to

 

breathe, then you will be successful!"  he yelled.  "You won't give a fuck about women!  You

 

won't give a fuck about no pussy!  You won't give a fuck about no parties!  No video games!  

 

No hanging out all night trying to be cool and talk shit!  No clubs!  None of that shit!  All

 

you will want to do is be successful!  Every breath in your body needs to breathe success!  If

 

you can't do that, then I don't want you on my team!"

 

 

Mason felt a charge of energy overcome him.  This man was right.  It's just that Mason hated

 

the way he proved it.  Just as Mason was about to speak, the man cut him off.

 

"Shut up and listen!  Check yourself Mason!  I don't wan't no nigga on my team who acting like

 

they already blew up!  Like you're already on top!  You came to me because you're fucked up!  

 

You come to me trying to get work off me, and you show up dressed like a female!  All you need

 

is a purse and a bra!"

 

Horace chuckled.

 

"I'm serious, Horace!"  Horace smile quickly disappeared off his face.  "Why the fuck you

 

bring me a nigga who ain't even smart enough to figure out not to wear no jewels to the first

 

meeting?  We don't attract attention like that to ourselves.  We take you out of all that fancy shit, and you look like a scared little boy.  A nigga like you will snitch on a nigga in a second.  You think you got more to lose than me?"

 

Mason felt insulted.  "Nigga, I ain't never snitched on a nigga a day in my life.  You don't

 

know shit about me.  Who the fuck are you to tell me how to live?  You don't know shit about

 

me!"

 

"Shit nigga, I know you need this work on consignment.  Or shit is gonna be fucked up for a

 

while, ain't it?"

 

Mason dropped his head and swallowed.  

 

The man repeated himself.  "Ain't it?"

 

Mason nodded.

 

"Okay then.  If you want me to give you this work, there are certain things that you're going

 

to have to understand.  Jewel one:  The early bird gets the worm."  He pointed to the sun,

 

which was only about halfway above the lake's surface.  The water reflected an orange glow

 

that looked as if it was on fire.  "You see the sun?  That's you.  You're supposed to move

 

with the sun.  Not the moon.  The moon is lunar.  That's feminine. When the sun gets up, then

 

you get up.  Got me?"

 

Mason scratched his head.  "What?"

 

The man continued.  "Men are solar based.  Women are lunar based.  We move with the energy of

 

the sun, right here."  He slapped his abdomen which was ripped.  "Right here in the belly.  We

 

take in that energy from the sun and hold it down in the third chakra.  We put that energy in

 

our gut and go with our gut.  Do what your gut tells you.  But only if you move with the sun.  

 

Know where the sun is at all times because that's like your battery charger.  Soak in the

 

natural rays.  They will give you energy."

 

Mason had to admit, when he had first got in the water, he had an unexplainable boost of

 

energy until he was attacked and almost killed.  "I had that energy until I was almost

 

drowned."

 

The man nodded.  "You still do have that energy.  That's what we're out here for.  To soak up

 

the rays.  Lay back and float."  

 

The man pushed backwards into the water and began to float on his back.  His toes sat right

 

above the water, parallel to his head as he stared up into the pink and orange sky.  The

 

sunrise was beautiful.  Mason had to admit, it was very peaceful even though he was cold.  He

 

looked over at Horace, who again shrugged his shoulders.  "Don't look at me," he repeated.

 

Mason shook his head and took a deep breath.  He jumped backwards into the water and let his

 

body float.  He stared up into the sky and listened to the silence.  He could hear his own

 

breath.  The air was passing through his nostrils, sounding like an airplane taking off and

 

landing over and over again.  It was very relaxing.  The man spoke some more.

 

"The sun up, sun down lit says this:  The sun doesn't move.  We move.  But subconsciously, we

 

think that the sun is inside the earth going up and down.  That's why the sun appears to be

 

going up right now, but actually, it's not moving.  We're moving."

 

The simplicity of what the man was saying hit Mason like a ton of bricks.  He had never really

 

thought of it like that before.  But it was true.

 

"Women are like the earth. Men are like the sun. Women are supposed to rotate around men, but

 

they got it now that the sun is rotating around the earth and the men are rotating around the

 

women.  That's the trick.  To get you to forget that the earth is rotating around the sun.  

 

It's a feminine way of thinking.  In the bible, Eve used to listen to Adam, until one day she

 

stopped listening and bit the apple.  Then she came and got Adam and made him eat it too.  

 

When God found out, he looked at Adam and asked 'Nigga, what the fuck is you doing?'  Adam

 

told God, "Shit, it was her!  It wasn't me!  She told me to do it!'  And God looked at Adam

 

and said, 'Nigga, I told you to listen to me, not her!  If you listen to me, then she's going

 

to listen to you!  You listen to her, now you fucked up!'  You understand?"

 

Mason understood, but he didn't understand what this had to do with getting drugs on

 

consignment.

 

"Go with your gut.  Trust your instincts.  Don't get lazy.  Don't let all the money, jewelry,

 

cars, and fast life distract you.  The sun sacrifices itself everyday so that we can stand

 

here and talk.  The sun is burning out all of its energy so that we can live.  It's the most

 

dynamic force that the two eyes can see.  It's right there in front of you all this time, and

 

you don't even appreciate it.  If it were to turn black right now, you'd be fucked up.  Give

 

the sun his props.  Don't be like a bitch and take it for granted that the sun is just gonna

 

keep burning itself out and rotating around you.  The sun ain't moving.  The earth is like a

 

female, moving around through chaos, spinning around, getting hot, cold, raining, snowing,

 

wobbling, getting cloudy, getting clear, all that shit.  The sun doesn't move.  It's been

 

sitting right there since the beginning of time.  Every planet wishes that they had their own

 

personal sun.  Imagine everytime a planet had a problem, the sun moved.  Imagine what that

 

would do to the universe."

 

Mason imagined the sun moving around through the universe.  He pictured other planets getting

 

cold as the sun moved in the opposite direction.  It kind of reminded him of how Jasmine acts

 

everytime he tries to walk out the door.  She get's cold.

 

"We're going to float around for a few more minutes, then we're going to head to Phoenix.  

 

That's where the work is." the man said.  

 

"Phoenix?" Mason asked.  "Phoenix, Arizona?  That's like an entire day of driving from

 

Chicago."

 

The man laughed.  "Phoenix, Illinois fool.  It's like nineteen miles outside of Joliet."

 

"Oh," Mason said.  "I never heard of Phoenix, Illinois."

 

The man shushed Mason, and pointed to the sky.  "Listen," he said.

 

Mason took a deep breath and relaxed.  For some reason, he felt more relaxed than he felt for

 

a long time.  He felt as if he was being inducted into a mob.  This man intimidated him, but

 

he was not afraid.  He could feel that this man wanted to trust Mason, but Mason didn't look

 

trustworthy.  He had to gain his trust.

 

After about ten minutes of floating around in the water and staring at the sun, the two of

 

them got dressed and got inside the man's 1980 Ford Thunderbird.  Horace took off and went to

 

go cook breakfast for his wife.  As Horace and the man headed toward Phoenix, Mason realized

 

that he didn't even know this man's name.

 

"Man, you never told me you name," Mason said.

 

"Osirus," the man replied.  "But you can call me Po."

 

"Po?  Like 'poor'?"

 

Po popped a rolled cigarette in his mouth and lit it up.  He took a few puffs and rolled down

 

the window.  The smoke shifted directions and flew out the window.  

 

"No," he replied.  "Po as in 'poetic'."

CHAPTER 4

Preparing for tomorrow

You do what you have to do

I'll share the weight

Whatever fate

Plans to bring to you

Don't worry 'bout no attitude

You just be yourself

Could live with you

In solitude

And need no one else

 

Give me your love

Give me your love

Give me your love, love

Give me your love

Give me, give me

 

 

The stereo sounded like one of the speakers had popped.  It was a factory system that sounded

 

nothing like the system that Mason was used to in his car.  For some reason, Po insisted that

 

Mason ride with him.  This was a decision that Mason was regretting, seeing how Po was driving

 

about forty-five miles per hour on the highway, and Mason was used to going at least eighty

 

miles per hour.  Mason felt himself squirming in his seat trying to ignore the urge to tell Po

 

to speed up.  He picked up his phone and looked at the time.  It was already six in the

 

morning.  This was around the time Jasmine would wake up to take out the dogs.  He called her

 

phone and waited for an answer.

 

"Hello?" said the soft voice on the other end.

 

"What's up bay?" Mason asked.

 

"Hey bay, where are you?"  

 

Mason lit a cigarette and inhaled.  "I'm on my way to go get the work.  I should be back

 

around noon.  Did you take the dogs out?"

 

Jasmine yawned.  "I'm about to get u now and take them out.  I miss you, bay.  It's hard for

 

me to sleep when you're not in the bed with me?  Why are you always up so late?

 

Just then, Mason realized that he played video games until 4:00am and went straight to the

 

beach.  He didn't even tell Jasmine that he was leaving.  "I promise I'll sleep with you

 

tonight, bay."

 

"Okay baby, I love you.  Don't forget to call your father."

 

Mason felt his stomach get hot.  Shit, he thought.  I forgot.

 

"Shit.  I forgot.  Thank's baby."

 

"Later," Jasmine said and hung up the phone.   

 

"They starting early today," Po said as he hung his head out the driver side window, looking

 

into the sky.

 

Mason looked up into the sky through the windshield.  He looked around and didn't notice

 

anything.  What the hell was he talking about?

 

"What are you talking about now, man?" Mason uttered while scrolling through his phone, trying

 

to find Sarah's call from yesterday.

 

"Well to you, nothing," Po replied.  "The pineal gland is the third eye.  That means the

 

underlying meaning between what your two eyes see.  Sometimes, it gets what's called

 

'calcified'.  That means that they shut that motherfucker down.  So it'll be shit right infront of you; that you're supposed to pick up on, but you don't."

 

Mason shook his head as he dialed Sarah's number.  He had no idea what Po was talking about.  

 

He had heard that word "third eye" before, but anybody whoever brought it up was some sort of

 

weirdo.  He had no idea what it even meant, or what Po just said.  

 

The phone rang once, then went straight to voicemail.

 

"Hi, this is Sarah.  Leave  message and I'll get right back to you.  God bless."

 

Beep.

 

"Sarah, this is Mason.  I'm calling to see how my dad is doing.  Call me back.  Bye."

 

Mason hung up the phone and came to the realization that there was nobody else for him to

 

call, so he had no choice but to listen to Po talk in riddles.  

 

"Now what the fuck was you talking about?  Three eyes or some shit?" he asked.

 

"Yeah nigga, your third eye.  Your shit is calcified.  You looked right up in the sky and

 

didn't even notice all those planes dumping that smoke in the air did you?"

 

Mason looked up through the windshield again.  He noticed four planes flying in different

 

directions.  Each one of them had trails of smoke behind them that traveled for miles.  Mason

 

also noticed that the further away the smoke went, the more it seemed to evaporate into the

 

air.

 

"So what, nigga.  It's an airplane.  All the airplanes do that," Mason stated.

 

"No they don't nigga.  It's just the ones that are high as hell in the air.  The low ones

 

don't have that shit.  Look."

 

Mason took a third look.  He noticed that the planes that were higher up in the sky had the

 

smoke.  There were two planes flying much lower than the others.  They had no smoke trailing

 

them.  Mason scratched his head, trying to figure out the significance of this.

 

Po explained.  "Go back to when we were floating in the water, and you looked up in the sun.  

 

You didn't see that shit.  It was a clear view.  It was beautiful.  Now here comes the cancer.

 

 The earth is taking it's morning cigarette, because she knows that she's gotta deal with the

 

bullshit that's about to come her way.  It's fucked up when you think of it like that, ain't

 

it.  The earth smoking a cigarette every morning? She's early today, though.  Normally, they

 

don't start for another twenty or thirty minutes."

 

Mason started to get irritated again.  Why did he keep talking in riddles?  Why the hell would

 

the earth smoke a cigarette?  What the hell does that even mean?  Mason picked up his phone

 

again and began to scroll through his contacts, looking for no one in particular.

 

Po continued.  "Man can't you see what they're doing to us, G?  They're blocking out the sun!"

 

This caught Mason off guard.  He sat up in his chair.  "Who is blocking out the sun?  Why the

 

hell would they want to block out the sun?"

 

"Because they want to keep you sleep," he replied.  "I just got through telling you back

 

there, to move with the sun.  It gives you energy.  Now look how they cut that energy source

 

off.  What type of effect do you think that's going to have on people?  That smoke has got all

 

types of metal, smoke, pollution in that shit.  That makes you more vulnerable to suggestion.  

 

So when you listen to that bullshit and see it on tv,you can't think straight because they

 

blocked out the sun and made you more vulerable to the bullshit.  So you try to match your

 

life to the images and sounds that you hear coming from the radio and tv. You think that the

 

normal day to day conversation, like this, is bullshit.  And you think the real world is in

 

your tv, radio, and phone."  

 

Mason scratched his head.  The abundant amount of information that was coming out of Po's

 

mouth was moving too fast for Mason to keep up with.  It sounded like a computer talking in

 

fast foward.  "What?" Mason asked.

 

Po shook his head.  "Man, you sleep as hell, G.  It's gonna be a long ride."  He turned the

 

music up and rolled down his window some more.  

 

Mason shook his head in confusion and stared out the window.  He couldn't help but to notice

 

at least a dozen trails of smoke in the air.  They were miles long and seemed to have no

 

beginning or end.  He had noticed the chemtrails before, but never even bothered to think twice or speak about them.

 

"That is a lot of smoke," he chanted to himself quietly.

 

"That ain't smoke, nigga," Po said in a commanding voice that almost shocked Mason.  Mason had

 

no idea how Po had even heard him.  The music was pretty loud and Mason was talking so low

 

that he barely heard himself.  "That's barium!"

 

How did I get stuck in the car with this nigga?  Mason thought to himself.  "What's barium?"

 

"Barium will kill your ass nigga.  In three or four different ways.  But fuck all that, that's

 

just the beginning.  They blocking out the sun by sending the solar rays back into the

 

atmosphere.  That's why we fucked up.  We half-cocked because we building off the lunar rays

 

instead of the solar.  That's why we bend to the will of the woman more so than the other way

 

around."

 

"Nigga I wish you would slow down," Mason said sternly.

 

"Shit, nigga I'm only going fifty miles per hour."

 

"Not driving, nigga.  I'm talking about the shit that you're saying.  You talking too fast,

 

using those big ass words, I can't understand what the fuck you're saying."

 

"Oh, I see, " Po said while chuckling to himself.

 

Mason found himself getting more irritated when he noticed that they were only going fifty

 

miles per hour on the highway, when there were other cars going at least eighty miles per

 

hour.  "And why the hell are you driving so slow?"

 

"Cause when you doing illegal shit, you supposed to drive slow and not attract a lot of

 

attention to yourself, foolie.  Don't you know anything?"  

 

Mason felt a jab at his ego.  "What you trying to call me stupid, nigga?"

 

"Only a woman would take a man's words and exaggerate them, and change them around to try to

 

get him to justify his character," Po replied.  "I don't justify my character because I am my

 

character, and my character speaks for itself, which is me."

 

Mason wanted to reply, but he had no idea what Po even said.  Mason felt the urge to keep

 

defending his character.

 

"Naw, nigga, you trying to call me stupid.  You think you can just flip a bunch of big ass

 

words around, talking about the sun and shit, and think I'm supposed to just sit back and not

 

know what the fuck you talking about?  Man, I already know all that shit you talking about,

 

man.  And it don't mean shit.  That shit ain't gonna put no food on my table, nigga.  I'm

 

trying to get money, you know what I'm saying?  Then you gonna hold a nigga under the water,

 

talking about breathe and shit.  Man what the fuck type of shit is you on, nigga, you think

 

I'm  bitch or something?"

 

Mason was hollering over the music and punching his own hand as he spoke.  Po did not seemed

 

phased by any of this.  It was like he didn't even hear Mason.  He stood perfectly still.  It

 

reminded him of when Heru had frozen up a few times in the middle of the conversation.  Po

 

turned down the radio and looked directly into Mason's eyes.

 

"So this is the real you, huh?"  

 

Mason's eyes lit up.  "Yeah, this is the real me, nigga!  I'm a gangster!  I've been shot

 

twice.  I been locked up, shot at, fighting, scrapping with niggas, all that shit, nigga.  I

 

ain't scared of shit, and I'm for sure not afraid of no nigga like you, trying to talk down on

 

me like I'm stupid or something nigga.  You don't know shit about me nigga.  That shit you

 

talking about, that's cool for you to know, nigga.  But I don't need to know all that shit.  

 

Tht shit is useless."  

 

"Yeah, I know," Po replied.  "You can't really use a lot of this info until you're dead."

 

Mason shook his head.  He wanted to end the conversation right there, but something kept

 

pushing him to continue.  "What the fuck does that even mean?"

 

Po chuckled.  "A lot of people go to there grave uncomfortable.  They're on their death bed

 

and they get uncomfortable and shit.  They're bodies start stinking and rotting.  They can't

 

piss and shit without help.  They're body starts doing shit that they never seen before.  They

 

get scared.  So right before they die, they start asking the questions that they always wanted

 

to know.  The questions that stir the soul.  Then they realize that they don't know shit.  

 

There's doubt.  There's fear.  There's only belief.  But they still don't know. No matter how

 

much you believe in something, you still don't know.  Life keeps changing.  So one minute, you

 

think you know everything, then an hour later, realize that you don't know shit."

 

Mason was intrigued, but felt an uncontrollable urge to argue.  He was not even aware of this

 

urge until he thought of his father lying on his death bed.  This made him calm down and take heed to what Po was saying.  However, an inner voice told him to say "Whatever, nigga.  I know all that shit already."

 

"No you don't, nigga.  Every time I open my mouth and speak, you get so lost in the poetry that you don't even pick up the jewel of knowledge.  Just like if you watch the Matrix, people forget all the knowledge in that movie because it gets swallowed up in all the boom boom, bang bang, pow pow, and whoosh whoosh.  It's like I'm speaking to you in a higher language."

 

Mason tilted his head and thought to himself.  It did sound like Po was speaking in a different language.  "Yeah, exactly.  It's like you're speaking in a different language."

 

"No, I said a higher language," Po stated.  "I'm actually speaking your language.  It's just coming from a higher thought.  It's just a lot harder for the higher thought to get through because your pineal gland is so calcified that you can't see the underlying meaning to anything that I'm saying.  The underlying meaning for everything that you see is 'money'.  There can be a rich nigga standing right in front of you trying to help you, but you can't even see him because all you can focus on is getting money."

 

Mason swallowed and felt humbled.  Maybe I do need to slow down a little bit, he thought to himself.  This guy could be rich and trying to put me on.  I should just sit back and listen to what he saying.

 

"And it's fucked up that I have to make you think that I'm rich in order for you to even take what I'm saying seriously."

 

Mason had an overwhelming feeling.  He wanted to get out of the car.  It was as if Po was reading his mind and confusing him at the same time.  He didn't understand this feeling, but he was completely overwhelmed by the feeling of wanting to get out of the car.  He felt himself becoming very sleepy as his eyes got low.  He could hear Po talking over the music, but the words didn't make much sense.  Mason felt his head nod forward as he tried to fight the overwhelming urge to fall asleep.

 

Why am I trying to stay awake, Mason thought to himself.  I don't really care what this guy thinks anymore.  I'm going to sleep.

 

 

"There must be some kind of way out of here,"

Said the joker to the thief,

"There's too much confusion,

I can't get no relief.

Businessman they drink my wine,

Plowman dig my earth

None will level on the line, nobody offered his word, hey"

"No reason to get excited,"

The thief, he kindly spoke

"There are many here among us

Who feel that life is but a joke

But you and I, we've been through that

And this is not our fate

So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late"

 

CHAPTER 5

 

The year is '94 and in my trunk is raw

In my rear view mirror is the mother fucking law

I got two choices yall pull over the car or

bounce on the double put the pedal to the floor

Now I ain't trying to see no highway chase with jake

Plus I got a few dollars I can fight the case

So I...pull over to the side of the road

And I heard "Son do you know why I'm stopping you for?"

Cause I'm young and I'm black and my hat's real low

Do I look like a mind reader sir, I don't know

Am I under arrest or should I guess some mo?

"Well you was doing fifty five in a fifty four"

 

Mason woke up to the familiar tune playing.  He noticed that the car was parked on the right

 

side of the highway and cars were flying past.  The driver side door was wide open, but Po was

 

nowhere in sight.  Mason rubbed his eyes and yawned.  Where is this nigga?

 

Mason opened his door and hopped out of the car.  He saw Po on his knees in front of the

 

passenger side front tire, which was flat.  Po was removing the last lug nut, when he looked

 

up at Mason and squinted his eyes, trying to block out the sun that was behind him.  

 

"You almost look like Heru," Po said as he put his hand up to his forehead, blocking out more

 

of the sun.

 

"Who?"  Mason asked, looking around trying to figure out where they were.  

 

"Heru," Po replied.  "The ressurected black man.  You ever see the movie Hancock?"

 

Mason thought back to the movie Hancock.  He remembered Will Smith getting drunk and flying

 

around the city, dropping cars and cursing people out.  He also remembered that around the

 

time when he saw it, he was smoking some very powerful weed that seemed to be blocking the

 

rest of the sequences from that movie.  "Yeah, I seen that bullshit.  You mean with Will

 

Smith?"

 

Po nodded and proceeded to keep winding the lug nut.  "Yeah, that was Heru.  They just never

 

told you."

 

Mason took a closer look at what Po was doing.  It appeared as if the entire tire had

 

exploded.  "That tire is shot.  Who is Heru?"

 

"I just told you.  Heru is the ressurection of the knowledge.  After they killed you and took

 

your third eye, the goddess Auset comes and restores it.  That's when you ressurect from the

 

dead and move with the sun.  The word 'hero' comes from the word 'Heru'.  The first hero was a

 

black man.  He ressurected from the dead.  You ever see the Matrix?"

 

Mason nodded.  "Yeah."

 

"Well Will Smith was supposed to play that role.  The role of Neo.  He turned it down to go do

 

Wild Wild West.  That bullshit.  But the Matrix was written by a black woman.  Neo was

 

supposed to be a black man. And Morpheus was supposed to be ressurecting the knowledge of self

 

 to a black man.  There was supposed to be a black man putting another black man on to the

 

Matrix, but they used Keanu Reeves's white ass instead.  That movie was supposed to be a

 

symbol of the ressurection of knowledge to the black man, but Hollywood put a white guy there

 

instead of a black guy.  So the entire message got fucked up."

 

Mason's curiosity was getting the best of him.  He did enjoy talking about racism from time to

 

time.  Every black man could relate to that.  "What was the message?"

 

"Well, if you break it down, you'll see that the agents could jump from person to person and

 

take over the mind and body.  That's what is happening to us.  There is an agenda to put

 

agents inside of everyone to keep them from waking up and falling into the true knowledge.  

 

There's an agent inside of you that keeps you from trying to understand the knowledge because

 

you think it's useless or impossible.  Plus they took your third eye, so you can't even

 

understand why it's important for you to know the knowledge."

 

Mason understood some of what Po was saying, but some of it sounded like a riddle.  

 

Why can't he just tell me what the truth is instead of putting me through all this back and

 

forth?

 

"What knowledge?" Mason asked.

 

"The knowledge of self.  I can't tell you the knowledge of self.  I can only tell you that

 

there is a such thing as the knowledge of self, and you're going to have to go looking for it

 

inside yourself.  People say 'everything happens for a reason'.  That's true if you're an

 

agent.  But if you're Heru and you ressurected, then you'll understand that you are the reason

 

why everything happens."

 

Mason liked the sound of that, but the concept didn't seem reasonable.  

 

"How could everything in the universe be happening because of me?"

 

"Who else could it be happening for?  Why else would you be here?  You underestimate yourself,

 

Mason.  There is a deeper meaning behind what you are doing.  You're part of a big ass

 

picture, it's just that you can only see what's right in front of you.  This entire universe

 

is yours.  You just don't know how to operate it.  Everything that you want, you already have.

 

 You just have to know how to ask for it."

 

"You talk a good game old man, but if that's the case, then why do you have a flat tire?  If

 

you control the entire universe, why couldn't you prevent this flat tire?"

 

"Because of Agent Smith," Po quickly replied.  "Agent Smith knows when your thoughts are going

 

through a paradigm shift.  Agent Smith is the one who tries to make you think that your

 

abilities are limited.  Agent Smith will distract you, and put obstacles in your way and kill

 

you spiritually.  That's what he does.  It's your job to ressurect from these obstacles that

 

kill you.  That's Heru.  This is the premise to damn near every movie that you've seen.  

 

Somebody who was a regular person gets killed mentally, spiritually, or physically by someone

 

who has a bad character.  The regular person becomes a hero and ressurects into a stronger

 

person so they can defeat their enemy.  You ever see the Lion King?"

 

Mason thought back to the cartoon.  He hadn't seen it in years, but he still remembered the

 

story.  "Yeah, who hasn't seen the Lion King?"

 

"Well, Simba was Heru.  His father Mufasa got killed by his jealous brother Scar.  That's the

 

concept of Ausar being murdered by his brother Set.  Ausar is the father.  Heru is the son.  

 

Ausar gets killed by Set, and sends the mentally dead Simba into the forest, where he was

 

eating bugs and trying to live worry free.  It wasn't until the monkey came and told him who

 

he really was that Simba decided to look in the mirror and see his father's reflection.  He

 

was a king and didn't even know it.  He was out in the jungle eating bugs and shit.  Just like

 

Hancock.  He didn't know who he was.  He had super powers but didn't know how to use them for

 

the good.  He would just get drunk and pass out in the street.  He didn't even want to know

 

who he was until Auset, the white lady, told him that he was a god."

 

Mason thought back to the movie a little more, and remembered scenes of Will Smith in jail.  

 

He remembered a white woman telling him that he was a god.  Then he remembered more flying and

 

Will Smith getting drunk.  "I kind of remember," Mason said, still trying to find a deeper

 

meaning to what Po was saying.  Why the hell are we talking about Hancock and the Lion King?

 

Po shook his head and went into his pocket.  He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and popped one

 

into his mouth.  He pulled a lighter and lit it.  As he spoke, the cigarette bounced up and

 

down.  "Look, man.  Just know that there is a hero inside of you named Heru.  He was the first

 

hero.  And there is an unseen spirit named Set, who sends agents at you to keep you from

 

unlocking Heru.  As a matter of fact, One of them should be interrupting us any second now."

 

The final lug nut came off and Po removed the shredded tire.  He picked it up and carried it

 

to his trunk.  A large truck drove past at a speed that knocked Mason's hat off his head and

 

onto the ground.  

 

"Shit!" Mason yelled as he chased his hat up the highway.  It tumbled through the dirt and

 

came to a stop.  Mason ran up on the hat and picked it up and dusted it off.  When he turned

 

around and headed back toward the direction of the car, that's when he saw it.

 

There were two police cars pulling up behind Po's car.  Po was standing in front of his open

 

trunk, facing the police cars as they pulled up.  

 

"Put your hands up!" a voice commanded through loud siren.  

 

Po put his hands in the air.  Mason did the same.  

 

Both police cars came to a stop and three officers emerged from both cars.  A total of six

 

officers approached Po.  Four of them pulled out their weapons and pointed them at Po.  One

 

officer, put his hand on his weapon but did not pull it out.  The last officer walked right up

 

on Po and put handcuffs on him.  

 

"Hey you!  Get the fuck over here!" commanded one officer.

 

Mason pointed to himself and raised his eyebrows.

 

"Yes, you, you ugly motherfucker!  Come here, now!"

 

Mason walked over to the officers and two of them put cuffs on him.  The took Po and Mason to

 

the back seat of the car and put them in.  After closing the doors, the two officers joined

 

the other four, who were surrounding Po's Thunderbird.

 

"Man, what the fuck is this shit?"  Mason asked.  "You got any dope in the car?"  At that very

 

moment, he thought of the ounce of marajuana that he had in his pocket.  His stomach got hot.  

 

It felt as if his heart had dropped into his stomach.  If they find that, it's over.  He would

 

 be in violation of his probation.  

 

Po seemed to be trying to position himself in a way that he was trying to get something out of

 

his pocket.  "Reach into my pocket and pull out my phone."

 

Mason quickly obeyed.  While pulling the phone out of Po's pocket, he was thinking about his

 

father and how the stress of him finding out that his son was arrested might make him worse.  

 

Mason handed the phone to Po, who porceeded to dial 911.  He pressed the speaker button and

 

listened to the phone ring once.

 

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

 

"Uh, yeah, I don't know if I should be saying anything, but there's like three black guys with

 

guns walking back and forth in front of the Shell gas station, right off the ramp on route 83.

 

 They all had on black shirts."

 

Po hung up the phone and slid it back into his pocket.

 

Mason was stunned.  He looked out the front windshield and say a green sign that said "Exit

 

83."  About three hundred yards up the ramp stood a giant sign that read "Shell".  Mason

 

looked at Po, who took a deep breath and exhaled.  Then it happened.

 

"Attention all units we have three black men dressed in black shirts near Shell gas station

 

off exit 83. Suspects are said to be brandishing weapons.  Possible robbery in progress."

 

As the voice came through the radio, the six officers simeotaneously dropped all the items

 

that they were holding in their hands and took off running back toward their vehicles.  They

 

quickly opened the back door and pulled Mason and Po out.  They unlocked the handcuffs.

 

"What happened, I was just getting comfortable," Po said with a smile on his face.

 

"We got bigger fish to fry," one officer said as he placed the handcuffs back on his hip.  

 

"You gentlemen have a nice day."  He jogged back to his car and jumped in the back seat.  The

 

police lights began to flash and siren began to blair.  As they headed up the exit, a trail of

 

smoke followed their path.  Mason turned to Po, who was already putting the wheel back on the

 

car.  Mason was frozen, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

 

"Come on, nigga get your scary ass over here and help me put these lug nuts on."

 

Mason blinked and jogged over to the car as the sound of the sirens passed out.  He picked up

 

the lug nuts and quickly screwed them into place.  Po used the tire iron to quickly tie the

 

donut into place.  The lug nut let out a final clank, signaling that it was fastened in place.

 

 He quickly lowered the car, then walked over to his trunk and put the tire iron and jack into

 

the trunk.  "Let's go," he commanded, as he jogged over to the driver side door and got in.  

 

Mason, still in shock, hopped in the passenger side as the car started up and proceeded to

 

take off.  Po turned to Mason.

 

"Shit seems like it's moving slow, but it's really moving fast as hell."

 

 

That's why they call me "Hova"

I'm far from being God

But I work goddamn hard

I wake up the birds who in the nerves is sleep

I'm catching my second wind the second the first one end

I am "focused man"

And I'm not afraid of death

And I'm going all out

I circle the vultures in a van and

I run the block (run)

Pull up in a drop (pull up)

Push up on my money (push up)

I'm in great shape dunny

I keep jacks jumping thirty six sets

Like a personal trainer I teach coke to stretch

I pump and rock sweats

All white trainers

The ghettoes, Billy Blanks

I show you niggas what pain is

 

[K-Blao]

Did you read the other chapters?