King Dave

1

F*** it, man!

Yo. I get to this party.

Don't know anybody!?

Now that's unusual. Seriously!

I got invited by one of my boy's boyz.

But neither my homeboy or my homeboy's

boy is here, but it's cool, you know.

It don't bother me.

Got people skills down, man!

I'm like... I'm like the contact king!

Oh yeah, oh yeah!

Contact king! Contact king!

Stan talkin'' to people.

Yeah, so, yeah...

Check out the apartment.

Everything's pretty normal.

Pretty boring even,

except... in the living room.

The living room is this black gang's turf.

Guys that look so mean, everyone is bouncing

from the living room the second they walk in.

I ask around.

Nobody knows 'em.

Dude says the guy whose crib we're in

is f***in'' scared.

Fights, theft, vandalism.

Scared, you know.

But me, I think these guys look f***in'' massive so...

I go up and talk to 'em.

One of them reaches into his pocket for a smoke...

Yo, cigarette?

Who's this guy?

Yeah. Thanks, man.

Then I back off. I let my move do its work...

Yo, you wanna burn a spliff, man?

Yeah, man! In the bag!

Yeah, yeah. Sweet man but I ain't got nothing

on me, man, I can't cut in with...

Yo, bro, we look like trailer trash to you, man?

Hmm?

We look like f***in'' bums?

Yo, just playin'', man!

Yo, no worries, bro. We're used to the sh*t, man.

Yo! F*** it, man.

Not even been 30 seconds

and they're callin'' me bro.

I'm f***in'' massive, man!

I park my scrawny white ass on the floor,

and sh*t happens.

We smoke blunt after blunt.

Passin'' around cones big as baseball bats.

It's real simple:

that night, you name it, we smoked it.

So now I'm f***in' stoned.

Couldn't recognize my own mother.

Then one of the niggaz starts talkin'' schemes.

Type of sh*t you don't wanna hear,

and you're better off not knowin''.

So I play the stoned kid mumblin'' the words

to the track that's playin''.

That's when the biggest dude gets up

in front of me like

"you ain't got no choice but to listen".

And he starts telling me that...

We're looking for a guy out to make some cash.

But for that to happen, to make the cash,

the guy has to do a job.

Stealing radios.

Car radios, Tiburon radios.

So... Here.

We sell the radios to some Arabs.

The Arabs take a chip out of the radios

and put them in shitty satellite TV decoders.

Then they sell them at flea markets.

Come, come, come.

Hey, man,

you're the perfect guy for the job.

Me?

- You.

So like I explain that it just really ain't my sh*t.

I've never done that. I don't have the...

The f***in'... what's the word...

The f***in' prerequisites, man!

Yo, man! It's my bro, man.

This guy is my bro.

I think that's what I said, but...

I'm so high, they're so pushy.

I ended up saying: OK.

After that, I can't remember a f***in' thing.

But the important pan is

that I wake up at home.

F***in' ripped, but home.

Then I'm in like, boxer shorts,

I get up to get some water

''cuz my mouth is f***in'' dry, and the phone rings.

10:
27, mam?!

Who the f*** is it?

Hello, who's this?

- Yo, bro!

Yo who the f*** is this?!

- Yo chill, chill, man.

F***. One of the bras from last night!

How you callin'' me at home, man?

Yo you kidding me?!?

- No.

You gave us your phone, cell and page number, man.

And we gave you a ride home.

F***! Then he tells me I have...

- 3 days to do 10 Tiburons.

If it's not done in 3 days,

we slice your dick off.

Man. Me saying yes was a joke!

I don't need the cash, I'll pay you back.

No no no. Yo, whose weed was you smoking?

- Yours. F***.

Yep. That's it.

- Thanks a lot. I'll pay for it!

No way. You do this job, or we'll machete your ass.

And you told us you were a pro.

I said that'???

- Yeah, man.

F***...

Now he's getting f***in' violent,

talking about f***in' machetes.

I almost left a skid mark in my boxers.

Alright, man, alright.

I'll do the f***in' job.

How much?

Only 200?!?

OK, OK, it's all good: 200.

Yes, yes, all good.

Yeah, OK. In 3 days.

Me and my big mouth...

F***!

I am f***in' terrified just thinking

what I have to do here, 'cuz I have to do it.

I could go to the cops but what's that gonna do?

They'd tell me not to do anything the niggaz say.

Not to worry, that the niggaz are just f***in' with me

and to call them back if I hear from them again.

But the problem, man, the f***in' problem,

is if I don't do what they say, the niggaz

ain't gonna come begging me to work for them.

But to f*** me up.

A f***in' beating. That's how it's done.

I know the game.

Right, man, I have to take a piss.

You know,

there's projects in my hood.

We ain't poor but you know, we live

close to the projects, and projects mean gangs.

Sucks but that's what it is.

OK, I need to think.

Just gotta kick my shitty ass.

OK, first, I gotta do it at night.

That means I can't work next 3 nights.

So I phone my job, say I'm sick.

Man I am so f***in' sick right now,

I can't work till like...

Saturday... or something.

Hey this better be a joke, dude,

we're already low staffed.

Sorry, no choice: sick.

And if you ain't happy about it, you can shove

your f***in' job up your f***in' ass!

Good one.

Second, I have no f***in' tools...

So that night...

I go to my mother's...

Hi.

So, work?

OK.

You like it'?

You used to like it.

So, thinking about going back to school?

Mom...

- Because you know, David, school is key.

A diploma opens doors.

She starts in with these f***in' shitty questions

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