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"YOU FIT THE DESCRIPTION."

Updated: Aug 19, 2019

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"YOU FIT THE DESCRIPTION."


MIDTOWN MANHATTAN, 41st ST. NYC, 02'


I'm on a roll. I've only been in New York for a year. But already my name is ringin bells. But not only is my nickname Kentucky well known in Midtown, More importantly what I did for a living draws even more attention. Sellin bud was a step down for me. When a year or so ago, I was moving $20 'slabs' of crack in FORT. LAUDERDALE FL.. Now, pushing $5 bags of weed, no doubt the money wasn't the same. But the penalties when caught were much more forgiving. Particularly Here in New York. What with their rockefeller laws and whatnot. Going 'up north' (prison) over a 'g pack' of crack, wasn't worth the extra risk, or the extra cash.


I got stopped by the Ds' in harlem after shutting down for the night. They ran up on me so quick I didn't have time to toss nothin. This is when stop and frisk was goin hard. They felt the left over bags of bud In my pocket. Pulled the shit out, gave it back to me. Then asks me, 'Where’re the guns?" GTFOH!

Besides. Bud money moved very well. The area I'm in, is full of tourists. Fresh off the buses from the Port Authority which is right across the street from my post. Im 2 blocks from 42nd. And and three blocks from Broadway where the ball dropped every new year. A constant stream of potential custies. Natives and out-of-towners alike. And if one spot went dead, or got too hot. I simply move the couple of blocks to the other spot.


My main post up spot is an alley on 40th an 9th Ave. Its hotter than fish grease. But by far has the most act. That's where I started. In midtown, you don't claim turf. Its too 'wide open' and unpredictable for all that.


The alley is where all the misfits congregated. The runaways, people on the run, hood guys, bums drug dealers. Matter fact, crack dealers were my best customers. All of them smoked. And they never came short.


Unfortunately, the Port Authority Police hung out here too. But honestly. The fact that all of us are out here, is the only reason they're out here.


Tonight I'm killin'em. Usually I go uptown to re-up with a few bags still in my pocket so to never have nothing. But tonight custies is comin so fast they take everything I got. So now I have to run uptown in-order to resupply.

I don't like this part of the job. Not being seen on the block was a bad thing. You lose money. And potential new custies. Round trip, uptown to 145th and back took about 45 min. But then I have to find a safe place to bag up the bud into nicks. And that takes another half hour.


The best way I handle all that is to not lallygag or procrastinate. But to do what I have to do off top so's I can get back down here as fast as possible.

I tell one of my boys that I'm on my way uptown to re-up, in case a customer ask about me. Before I hit the train, I always call my connect in order to make sure he's around. And to let him know that I'm on my way. It's all good.


I get off the train to see my man tony. Tony. I know that's not his real name. He's born and raised in Jamaica. I've been here long enough to know that a lot of these foreigners, you know, Arabs, Pollocks, Asians. Have them long complicated cultural names which nobody can pronounce. So soon after they come to the U.S. they'll abbreviate or change their name to something easier to swallow to make communicating less complicated for themselves and the natives. Tony's been my main plug from the start. We have a good business relationship and things always go smoothly whenever we make the transaction.


This time it's 2 ounces of weed for 120 dollars. I peace him out. Then head right back towards the train station.


The train comes quick. I hop on. Take a seat. Glad to be back in the trains air conditioner. Then wait. And wait. And wait. Even though I have an ounce of bud in each pocket, I don't trip. Sometimes the train gets stuck in the station like this. There always seems to be some 'incident' at the next stop, or a sick person on the platform, an accident, or a crime. In-which case the police &/or paramedics have to come. It's a constant annoyance.


But this time some'ms different cause usually there's an announcement over the intercom on why the trains not movin. Plus, the sliding subway doors haven't closed once. Over 20 mins. go buy. Bupkis.


Now i'm startin to get that feelin. The feeling that somethin's wrong. Ain't going right. An in the end. Won't end well for me. But what can I do?

All of a sudden, this whiteboy pokes his whole mid section inside my train car. Looks around. Then Looks at me. He says. 'Excuse me sir, can you step off the train for a minute?' 'Fuck you. who the fuck is you?' He pulls out a detective badge from under his t-shirt.


'Fuck that mean? I didn't do shit.' 'Sir this train will not be moving until you step off so I suggest that youse comply so's we can get this over with.' 'Get what over wit?' I ask. But I already knew. I look around inside the train. All eyez on me.


The cars less than half full. But felt for the people that were just wanted to be on there way. I get it up. 'Fuck!' 'Can you follow me outside please?' The faggot hops on lil radio and says some shit like'I got one in custody.' Or some dumb shit like that. I steamin. Tight. Usually I'd be calling this faggot every name in the book. But with these O's in my p-dockets I don't push as far as I want.


We climb the stairs back up to street level and it's like Friday nights lights out here. Police cars all along the same block I juss came from. All with their light on. Mad police on the sidewalk. It's a scene man.


The faggot DT. walks me over to some uniformed fagoot who I think he's in charge of. But after listing to the faggot in the uniform ask questions then give orders. I realize that the faggot in the uniform is in charge. So it's him I ask. 'Yo wtf is goin on man? Why y'all got me out here in this shit?'


``Sir, there was a shooting about fifteen minutes ago. You fit the description of the suspect.'' I've heard that one before. It was so routine to hear that I remained silent. Knowing that we both knew the same inside joke.


'Have you checked his pockets yet?' The faggot uniform cop ask the faggot plain clothes bitch. I didn't hear what he told him. But i'm assumin it had something to do with probable cause and search procedures.


I turn up my voice. 'Hey man how the fuck longer I got to stand out here man? I was on my way to do something?'


The uniform faggot is like, 'We're just waiting for an officer to bring the witness to the shooting here to identify if you are the shooter or not.'


A couple mins. later a maroon Caprice pulls up. Stop in from of us three but in the middle of the road. The uniformed faggot is like, 'OK sir if you can just look towards the back seat of tht patrol car so the witness can get a good look at you?

The cop in the Caprice lit me up with that high powered search like they have at the front of most cop cars. When it hits me I look straight towards the wip, fold my arms over my chest, stand up as straight as I can, and look dead into the ink black tint on the back passenger side window of the big body unmarked Caprice.

There's a squawk on one of their radios. Then the uniformed faggot says, 'Alright sir your good to go. Thank you for your time. I don't say anything. I don't even look his way. I juss turn around and head back down the fuckn stairs again. I stops in the middle of the stairway. I look over my shoulder and realize that plain clothes faggot was not following me.


'Hey! Hey!' until I got his attention. 'You gotta put me back on the train since you. took me off for no reason. Ain't no way I'm payin to get on the train twice!'

After a few more words to his superior. The cop follows me back down to the turnstiles, then opens the emergency door for me.


true story, written by- jonathan 'deez nuts' riley

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