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I exagerate, tell her, “I’m a king, baby, I run this shit!” She rolls her eyes, like, “Sure, pal.” Sarcasm drips off her, I’m laughin’ inside – this chick’s got balls. We’re vibin’, drivin’, talkin’ about nothin’. “I’m not trying to be anyone,” I mutter, movie line again, fits perfect. She’s like, “Me neither, just tryna eat.” Damn, that hits. I toss her an extra fifty, feelin’ soft – don’t tell nobody, alright?

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Madison-Heights is a city of raw hustle and soft hides. I love its honest, unpolished vibe. The quirks make it magic—like a film script by Richard Linklater, all cut-up and unpredictable, but oh so somethin’ else. Stop over and get lost in it. Even if you find typos in my story, that's the beauty of all this messy truth—imperfection, and raw life, right? Cheers to that.

Hit with a pipe, he died of a heart attack. The resulting charges divided two families