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inspect my legs and arms to see what the damage is. Relieved to find only a few cuts and bruises, I start laughing about the near-death experience.
    WHOOSH!
    I glance up to see the old Impala now ablaze. I can’t feel sorry for those niggas, even if I wanted to. What the hell were they thinking rolling through our hood and attempting to do a massive drive-by? Everybody in Memphis knows that Shotgun Row is the muthafuckin’ heart of the Gangster Disciples’ territory. Clearly these niggas were trying to impress somebody and got caught up.
    KyJuan races back over to me, shooting his gun straight into the air. “YEAH! YEAH! You see that shit?” He stumbles. “Whoa.”
    I smile. “For sure. You handled yours, Daddy.”
    â€œDamn straight.” His greedy eyes roam my figure. “I done smoked me some la, capped me some Vice; all I need is some pussy to call it a day.”
    I frown as my gaze falls to the blood soaking his T-shirt. “Did you get hit, Daddy?”
    KyJuan follows my line of vision and then looks surprised. “Oh shit.” He lowers his gun and pulls up his T-Shirt.
    All I can make out is blood and pulverized flesh before he slumps to his knees. “Those muthafuckas!” He swears under his breath, drops his gun, and then passes out.
    I stare at my golden ticket to rising up in the Queen Gs and can’t believe my eyes. I walk over to him on bruised knees and check for a pulse. When I can’t find one, my tears swell. “Now what the fuck am I going to do?”

5
LeShelle
    I ’m high as hell, grinding my hips and clapping my ass in Python’s face when these pussy, punk muthafuckas start blasting down Shotgun Row. Next thing I know, my arm is on fire and Python is shoving me to the floor and reaching for his chrome. There isn’t even time for me to question what the fuck is happening before he charges the front door with the rest of the set.
    But it’s hard to keep a good gangsta bitch down. I roll up off the floor and reached for the 9 mm I keep strapped to my right calf. Even Momma Peaches goes for her cast-iron umbrella stand and rises up with an HK SL8 assault weapon, ready to rock-a-bye any nigga who gets in her way.
    In the short time it takes for me to hustle my way to the front yard, the brown Impala has crashed and niggas are pulling bodies out of the car and stomping their asses like cockroaches. I start to run over to add my high-heeled pumps into the mix when someone sets that shit on blaze. Niggas whoop and holler, acting like they just got their freedom papers.
    â€œIs y’all sure that’s all of them?” Momma Peaches asks, clutching her weapon and peeking around the corner of the front door like some real commando.
    I laugh. “Yeah, those trick ass—” From the corner of my eye, I see KyJuan drop like a stone.
    â€œFUCK!” Rage twists Python’s face before he plows through a crowd of niggas and hoofs it up the cracked sidewalk.
    I race after him. My heart pounds in the center of my throat. Everyone knows that Python and KyJuan have known each other since they were baby seeds. They grew up and blew up together. They were the kings of Shotgun Row, and the thought of some miscellaneous niggas rolling through our block and blasting one of them off their throne is just too much to wrap my brain around.
    Python drops to his knees and snatches KyJuan away from the chicken head crouching over him, but it’s clear by the way KyJuan flops over and the amount of blood painting the concrete that the Grim Reaper has collected one king and is marching him toward heaven’s ghetto.
    â€œFuck these muthafuckas!” Python jumps up and throws punches in the air. “I want to know who the fuck sanctioned this shit, and then we ride the fuck out.”
    â€œVice, man,” a foot soldiers says. “I know I’ve seen that one dude dumping and running with those dirty niggas. You feel