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However, there was nothing in that alley but a stray dog, green trash and recycling bins, and some trash blowing in the light wind. When I made it to the end of the alley I spotted my nigga Don the Barber and a couple of other cats hanging out in front of my girl, Meka’s, beauty salon/barber shop, 089.
    They were busy shooting game at a couple of boppers with curves that looked ready to bust out of their skin tight jeans. The season had just flipped to spring and niggas and bitches in the hood were already playing summertime games. Normally I would’ve honked and chucked the deuces as I made another left onto Center Street before I turned back onto Forty-eighth. But these weren’t normal times. I couldn’t trust anybody. Meka, the owner, did my hair and Don the Barber cut Ivan’s. The Indigo Gold had only enhanced my paranoia and even had me questioning their loyalty.
    I was still clutching my strap when I parked in front of the red, tan and white brick two-story crib. The same one I’d lived in with a nigga I’d gave my all to. A couple of tears dropped down my cheeks as I sat there with all types of memories flashing through my head. Memories of us fucking and counting money under the same roof. Memories of us sleeping in the same bed and plotting on our next lick all under the same god damn roof! How could this nigga throw all of that away for that dirty white bitch?
    I wiped the tears away from my face before I checked to make sure a bullet was in the chamber and ready to blast off. The only answer to that question was that I’d been sleeping with the muthafuckin enemy. I learned a long time before I met Ivan’s sheisty ass that there was only one thing you do to your enemies: eliminate them. I tucked my strap into the cute little Coach purse I bought at the outlet store in Denver.
    I placed a blue Denver Bronco fitted cap on my head and pulled the brim as low as I could. I rocked it with an orange t-shirt that had “Denver The Mile High City” in blue lettering and a big marijuana leaf under it. I also copped some True Religion jeans and some orange and blue Air Force Ones to set the fit off. A bitch was supposed to be ducking as much attention as possible, but I just couldn’t see not looking good while doing it.
    I looked in both directions before I stepped out of the Escalade. As usual our block was one of the quieter ones in Uptown. Niggas weren’t posted op with dope sacks or shooting dice or hanging out at all. It was just a block full of small and medium sized cribs that actually had freshly cut green grass. You would find niggas playing those types of ghetto games and more once you crossed to the other side of Center Street. In Uptown you never knew what you were going to get until you got there.
    It was damn near seven at night and sunlight was still clinging to the sky as I quickly walked around to the back entrance. Daylight savings was a muthafucka when you didn’t want any nosey neighbors in your business. The air was cool enough to give me goosebumps as I found a spare key hidden inside the basement window well. We started keeping one there after Ivan came home drunk a few times and locked his keys in the car.
    I didn’t take my strap out of my purse until I’d carefully stepped inside of the house and closed the door behind me. Like I said, I doubted anybody was there but a bitch wasn’t taking any chances.
    I clenched my teeth with every step I took up the staircase that led to the kitchen. It’s like the more careful I tried to be the more the muthafuckas creaked. There was enough sunlight coming through the kitchen window over the sink for me to spot the note posted on the stainless steel refrigerator. The same stainless steel refrigerator that matched the stainless steel stove and dishwasher I picked out to bring the kitchen to life. The whole damn place looked like a muthafuckin dope spot before I moved in and added my touch.
    Ivan didn’t give a fuck because he was a street nigga.