OFF THE RECORD: THERE'S RULES TO THIS SHIT

Read this fast, in a slick voice. lol.

But he aint know that, this my block... my block. You cant come to my block with your block rules. I will spank you and they gonna let it happpen. yea they are. cause they know I'm not like that no more. An Ima tell you my name, my name Dru, Ima tell you cause I dont want nobody else gettin caught up in my shit. yea, yea. Dru. And the niggas from your block know me. Yea they know me. You gonna tell them "Yo some old nigga Dru put his hands on me" and they know me, they know what I did out here. But I dont bother nobody no more. I dont bother no. bo.dy. YouUndastand... and they gonna look at you like "well young boy if he put hands on you then you did something, haha you gotta live with that" Pffhh, Walk off? You aint 4 5 6. Son tried to walk off Jus. Nigga said, "Yo Im done" and put he dice down...Ha! You got 600 of my dollas, we aint done. Matter fact I aint done. I got some more money to lose but you don't know that. He started walking. I grabbed son by his collar like "na na yo we dont do that, you gotta headcrack before you walk or (arms open, shaking his head)..." he like na yo on my block we just ...." naa na. look around, look around, this look like your block? Right. Riiight. Now come back over here... pick these dice up and lets go. Haha, word forreal Jus. whats wrong with these little niggas. They don't know. I've been out here. I know the rules. Like 04 05, some nigga come to the block, he from around, we know him, but he aint from here (points finger down) knowwhatImsayin... my grandmother from Six 53, forf floor (raises 4 fingers), my whole life.... we playing ball. He foul, I foul. He talking, Im talking. Next thing I know he throws the ball at me. Hit my arm. Now, he know, that I know that I suppose to violate. Throw the ball back, punch in the face, something. you know. But he expecting that, knowwhaimsayin. I throw the ball, he catch it, then Ima look stupid, haha. Na! Na! Not me. Its summa, everybody outside.... Cool. You right. My fault. Dont throw the ball back, we keep playin.

Ppff, 2 plays later, I got the ball man, as soon as I cross half court, as soon as I!.... WAM! Throw the ball in his face. he like "ohhhhhhh" (holding his face) he leaking..... Yea. Yea. they dont know.

Story told by, a Troubled Youth.

Many nights.. I would sit on the block with the older guys. I guess you would call them the OG's. We would sit around, like any other day. Some would be drinking champagne, some would be drinking henny, and others would be drinking beer. Their choice of drink usually reflected how well they were doing at the time. But, sooner or later, no matter the drink it all had the same effect.

Once, they were drunk, they would often go back in time and tell these crazy stories about shit they did, witnessed, or things that just happened around the hood. I was a kid listening to these stories. They were like movies to me.. the stories were so rich in detail. It felt like I was there.. You could see it. You could smell it, You could feel whatever fear or excitement they had in those few moments... Mixed with the surrounding elements of liquor, weed, loud music, and sirens going off in the background, it became the texture and soundtrack to each story told.

We all have a story, whether good or bad.. there's a story to tell. Off The Record is that . It's an ongoing article where I've visited neighborhoods and interviewed retired street guys, that have left the game alone.. They were filled with stories. Stories that they never told or felt like they could ever tell.. These are true stories. These are the stories of the men and women from neighborhoods like mine, across the country.