What have I become?

"Aye bruh! Aye bruh! Let me hold five, so I can get a 2'11. I'll wash your windows."

"I'm good O.G. I ain't got it."

This was my life now, begging and asking younger G's for help. Knowing that I couldn't go back into the neighborhood corner store. I was caught stealing a beer. Too broke to buy my own. Still managed to maintain my respect from the work I put in. My life is now of a pee-on.

It's been six months since I finished a five year prison sentence. I got locked up for armed robbery. A lick that didn't go as planned.

Now all I really have is memories.

Memories is what many of us leave the streets with. Memories, drug habits and a prison sentence.

I know these youngsters in my neighborhood nowadays aren't built like me. They're too scary. They are making money on the same foundation I built for them.

Even if I want to jump back into the game, I couldn't. When I was in the game, money wasn't just flowing through like that. When the work slowed up and it got dry, I resorted to robbing my own.

Now, I spend hours on in, each day filling out job applications for the local fast food restaurants in my community. Begging and pleading for an opportunity to flip burgers or drop fries in hot grease.

The flame from the lighter ignited the cigarette. Harmful smoke filled my lungs as the relief of stress freed my body.

"Hello." That was me.

"Thank you for calling Chicken Hut. Where we fry and you buy, this is Ari." A young women with a rough voice picked up the phone.

I spoke, "Yes, this is Donte. I just wanted to check the status of my application I submitted."

She said, "Okay, the General Manager does the hiring. He won't be in until Friday. We'll look into it."

"Yes. I have a few things on my record. I'm a fast learner, but if you give me a chance, I can do the work. All I need is a chance. I'm open everyday of the week."

Silence came from the end of the line.

I said, "Hello. Hello."

No answer.

Damn. Another failed mission. Being a felon in America isn't easy. People look at you like the scum of the Earth. As a man, living in a capitalistic society, with no money, you might as well be dead.

I walked back to the front porch. The day in the hood was hot. Fatherless kids running up and down the street. All of the ugly fine women were out. Yes, ugly fine women do exists.

Some of them I went to high school with. Welfare queens flaunting around their out of shape bodies, trying to trap another man. Women that I'm dying to have a chance for again. I still have my prison body too. It's been five long years. They ain't shit, just like me. Why not let me indulge where a lot of men have visited before?

The land was full of zombies looking for the next high. This was the environment I was born and raised in. Nothing had changed since my days of running around these same streets since I was a kid.

Funerals and court dates was a normal thing.

A place full of future inmates and inmate breeders.

As I sat on the front porch, contemplating my next move in life, my Mother came outside with a glass of Lemonade. I felt her watching me. Her dead eyes filled with regret and grief.

She asked, "What you going to do? It's been six months and you still sitting on your ass. You need to see what your Uncle Eddie talking about with that landscaping job."

I was tired of hearing her mouth.

My substandard living conditions were starting to get to wear on my spirit.

Living with my sister, her kids, her boyfriend, my mom and her man. This was for the birds. Their men look at me like a zoo animal. My mom and my sister want me out because I scare their fake protectors.

My reputation of a being a real gangster, didn't match my pockets.

When I walk down my street, everyone looks at me like I've fell all the way off. I was tired of this low life I've exhibited. I thought everything I did in the streets was going to amount me living a life a bliss and fun. That time had came and went. I was tired. This was like death. Too much stagnation was present here.

I took my eyes away from the concrete between my feet.

Commotion was coming from the neighborhood park. A large crowd was starting to gather. People began running to the park for some reason. The same ugly fine women that I lusted after were dolled up and damn near naked. All of them walking fast to the park to see what was going on.

I asked a kid what was going on at the park.

He said, "You ain't heard. Young Paperchase at the park! He's here!"

Young Paperchase was a hometown rapper that made it big while I was locked up.

He was always scared of action. I remember how he used to get bullied. Everyone thought he would never amount to anything.

His new Camaro came roaring down the street. The motor under the hood was so loud, it could be heard from miles away. Everyone watched in awe. He rolled slowly up and down the main road, he began throwing money out the roof of his car.

Like a cage full of savage beasts when a piece of meat dropped down, pure chaos erupted. People trying to grab as much as they can. Pushing each other out the way, trying to get their bread crumbs. Couldn't blame them, everyone around here is poor.

A feeling stirred in my stomach. This made me feel so small. His flamboyant behavior pierced my spirit in every way. Sharper than a two head sword. I hated to see this. He was flexing on everyone, but people respect money. The people on my level sang his praises.

My Mother cried out to me, "Donte, I don't know why you just standing there watching. You need to be go grabbing some money off the ground. You must like being broke."

That stung.

My sister added to the pain. She said, "Yeah, you should be tired of living off of us. You know you need to be trying to pick up that money."

My Mother kept pilling on the harmful words.

She said, "Oh Lord! That boy come through here flexing like that. Donte, you ain't never had a car like that! He know he don't need to be coming through like that."

My sister's boyfriend yelled from inside the house, "Hell yeah! That lil nigga heavy. I rock with his music too."

The words from them stung my pride so hard.

They were right though.

If I was to put my pride to the side and go pick up the money he was throwing. I'd actually be able to go and buy my own beer instead of begging for money for one. Instead of buying Steel Reserves, I'd be able to buy me a big Corona or even go buy me a bottle of Paul Masson. Instead of picking through gas station ash trays for a smoked cigarette, I could actually go buy my own Newport longs.

Their truthful words ate at me like ravishing dogs trying to catch the slave that escaped the plantation.

His success was confirmation of my shortcomings. I didn't like this one bit!

The envy burned in the pit of my stomach.

Seeing all of this ruckus he came through with, coupled with the fact that he was basically living off my gangster, taking all of our women, on top of my financial hardships; it was time to bring back some normality to this neighborhood.

This became the day I became something that I didn't know was in me.

I got word from across town drug dealer that I knew from my past. Young Paperchase had beef with this guy.

Smoke was an upcoming rapper in my hometown, but people didn't rock with him like that. Smoke had put in real work unlike Paperchase.

I was walking down the street after begging for a Miller High Life outside the neighborhood corner store. A black Lincoln pulled up beside me while was walking down the street.

A black face with gold teeth started speaking, "Donte? Boy what the hell? Get in!"

The scent from Smoke's car punched me in the face. It wasn't weed, but the smell wasn't pleasant. I slumped down in the passenger seat of the Lincoln. The hot leather tattooed heat on my humid body, stinging me. I remained cool.

I said, "What's up Smoke?"

He rubbed his beard and said, "Ain't nothing, trying to see if you want to do me a favor. Glad to see you home."

"Look bro, I'm not trying to go back to prison."

"Damn bro, you don't even know the favor I'm asking for."

Smoke said, "Look, take this and these too. I heard about what he did the other day when came down that hoe flexing heavy too."

I nodded my head. Thoughts of the day ran through my mind. He made me feel so low and so small.

Maybe Paperchase seen that as a blessing by passing money out to the people of the neighborhood. I seen it as a jab to my manhood. I felt assaulted when he pulled up doing that.

I said to Smoke, "Thank you."

Smoke ran down the plan to me.

When I got out the car, I tucked the rusty 9mm Desert Eagle in my waistband. The Xanax pills and $500 he gave me sat pretty in the right pocket of my worn jeans.

That was day Paperchase's fate was sealed.

I was hypnotized by hatred. Everything bad in my life, I blamed it on Paperchase. Me being not shit has nothing to do with him. In my mind, I loved to hate him. This was fuel to my sickening fantasy of the murderer I'd become.