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out back.” Without waiting for a response, KyJuan takes my hand and leads me toward the back screen door.
    â€œDamn, Python,” Peaches complains. “I told you to convince Datwon to get out of the game—not shoot his ass.”
    Niggas laugh.
    â€œPeaches, how about a dance?” Rufus asks, squeezing in between her and Arzell. Everybody knows he’s been sweating Peaches for decades.
    â€œIf you don’t get your old ass up out of my face!”
    The crowd roars again.
    There are even more niggas crawling outside, most of them hanging by the grill and food table, loading up on grub like they ain’t ate in weeks. The rest are either dancing or leaning against the back fence and swigging down Buds.
    â€œShit.” KyJuan cups his meat like his hard-on is getting to be too much to handle.
    I smile at his frustration. In my head, I’m calculating. If I can lock down a lieutenant like KyJuan, maybe my hustlin’ days are over. I can be one of the Queen Gs who spends her time shopping and rocking the latest fashions. This nigga isn’t Python, but surely he’s the next best thing.
    â€œAin’t no thang, Daddy. I live just a couple of doors down.” I puff out another smoke ring and feel my eyelids go heavy. I look at the blunt and wonder about all the sudden tingling sensations spreading throughout my body. Hell, it was stronger than the shit my best friend, Baby Thug, be rolling. “What’s in this shit?”
    â€œAyo, man. That’s a KyJuan specialty blend. My shit going to have you feeling loverly .” He rubs on my arm, but then does a sneak wraparound and squeezes my booty. “Damn, girl, you thick as hell.”
    I giggle and lick my lips. “C’mon, Daddy. Let me hook you up.” I take him by the hand and then proceed to start stumbling out the yard.
    KyJuan laughs. “Aw. You’re feeling the shit now, huh?”
    I laugh. Saying that I feel good is a serious understatement. At some point while I try moving through the crowd, I’m convinced that I’m not walking but floating through the scene with Lil Wayne’s old hot track “Lock and Load” blasting through the street. Suddenly, the air is charged with a different kind of energy—a dangerous energy. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I glance to my left and then to my right.
    My gaze locks onto a dusty brown Chevy Impala cruising down the crowded street. Behind the wheel, a short muthafucka with thick cornrows and cheap mirror sunglasses catches my attention and blows my high. Who’s that muthafucka ? But my brain is working slower than usual.
    â€œFORKS UP!” KyJuan yells, shoving a hand against my back, tripping me out of my pumps and sending me careening toward the sidewalk.
    I scream just as my exposed skin hits concrete and I scrape a good foot along pebbles, broken glass, and God only knows what else.
    POP! POP! POP! POP!
    RA-DA-TAT-TAT-TAT!
    Bullets fly everywhere.
    Startled and hysterical screams fill my ears while I’m still a little dazed and confused. An army of Gangster Disciples pours out the houses on Shotgun Row, guns blazing. There’s a loud screech from the Impala’s tires, and the evening air is blanketed with the scent of burning rubber.
    POP! POP! POP! POP!
    RA-DA-TAT-TAT-TAT!
    The Impala attempts to make a sharp turn off the street but instead crashes into a parked black Escalade. Disciples proceed to turn the Impala and the three niggas inside it into Swiss cheese. When I sit up, I watch as the dead bodies jump and wiggle around as a barrage of bullets hits them.
    â€œYEAH! YEAH!” KyJuan starts jumping around, throwing his fist in the air. “FUCK THEM NIGGAS UP!” He runs over to the car just as most of 6 poppin’ crew are pulling the doors open and jerking bodies out. KyJuan is one of the first to start stomping the niggas into the ground.
    I pull myself off the sidewalk and then