Fly and the Whiskey Bottle Pt. 3. Flashback 1.

People say blood has no taste... But it does. Anyone who's ever had their lip busted up can attest to that. Iron... It tastes like iron. Like you just licked the bottom of your Mommas best metal cooking pot. Sharks know that taste. And when they smell it, they come a running.

Spring football practice was in full swing and Fly was Johnny on the spot in the secondary. Penciled in from the beginning of last years final game. He was gonna be a play maker and his coaches knew it. Coach Halls was going to keep his job through another extension with this batch of kids. They were gonna make him an icon. That's something you can retire nicely from.

Football, sports in general was one of two ways for Fly to make it out of the hood. The hood was something he took pride in, but it was also a great source of angst and pain. Something he knew he needed to separate himself from if he was ever going to live to see thirty. The hood took care of it's own one way or another. If you weren't scoring points on a field to get out, you were more than likely going to be carried out... In a body bag. You had to be smart and quick on your feet to keep one step ahead of the drama that placated this urban sprawl if you wanted to have any chance of surviving in it's environment.

The sharks circled the peripheral, ever watchful of a "wounded or sick fish." They also kept an eye on the smart ones. Ones that could potentially become useful to their daily endeavors... Threats. That's ultimately what they were. There was a fine line between schooling a young blood nestled safely under the proverbial protective wing, and plugging in a muther fucker that could one day rise up to conquer you. It was a partnership in education. Street style. A necessary evil to keep the eb and flow of the hustle in full effect. It worked mostly when everyone knew their place and no one rocked the boat. Rock that boat and... Well, rock that boat and mother fuckers get tossed to the sharks.

"Yo' niggah, you going to Talia's party tonight? It's gonna be off 'da chain ya hear!?!" Squirrel shouted from the back seat of a Lincoln Town car, hanging out the window so far that Braun and Big Swoll had a close up view of his naked ass. "Yeah niggah I be there. What time you'se heading out?" Responded Fly walking briskly down the sidewalk with his girl Anita. "Joint gets to jumping 'round ten dog. Bet not be late niggah, Braun got some 'dat new bootleg joint from Tupac and 'da shit is hype!!" "Ah, for real?" Fly lit up. Tupac was his favorite. A black man with something real to say that he wanted to soak up. "Yeah niggah, get cho' lil ass there early fo' real. Braun's cutting some dupes for his boys and if you ain't there, you get left the fuck out niggah fo' real!" "Awight niggah, I be there. You bet keep one dem back for me for real, or I'll bust my foot all up in yo' ass niggah!"

It was mid March in the city and winter couldn't decide if it wanted to relinquish itself from the area. Cold but not ice cold. The sky was clear and the neighborhood was aglow from an almost full moon . A romantic moon Fly thought. He was going to get that new bootleg and then dance his ass off on the dance floor. Anita was dressed to the nines and had all the baddest mother fuckers in the hood hanging out of trees for her . But she was with Fly. Fly was different. He had an uncanny knack for getting people to like him, thug and average Joe alike. But he was a thinker, and he knew all the angels even before they presented themselves. Anita's dress was going to cause problems. See, some guys knew the code and played within the rules. He wasn't worried about them. But thugs and niggahs don't play by no one else's rules but their own, so Fly was anticipating problems. He asked Anita politely not to wear the dress because of just such a scenario, but she insisted. She'd worked thirty hours that week at the Deep Dish along with school and she had earned the right to dress up and go dancing with her man. Fly didn't argue with her. That was something he'd seen too much of with his Momma and her endless run of new boyfriends. He told himself long ago he wasn't going to be like that.

When they approached the house Fly got an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He couldn't figure out why. He was going to be with friends. He was going to get his new Tupac tape. He was going to dance his ass off with his girl and make hot passionate love to her to end the night. So why was his stomach telling him something different?