Streets of New York. Mark Anthony

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      More hours passed by and I was still face down on the ground smelling like piss. I had endured an entire day underneath the car, a day of intense summer heat and humidity. And on a number of times I felt like I was gonna pass out or have a stroke from the heat. Nighttime had rolled back around.

      The shit that I had to take from earlier in the day managed to creep back up on me. Soon it would be a total of twenty four hours since I’d been underneath the car but my freedom was at stake so I still wasn’t confident that I could come out from underneath the car. Yet, I couldn’t hold it anymore. So right there I shat on myself and since I don’t know how to shit without pissing so I pissed again too. This was the absolute lowest point in my life bar none!

      As I lay there in my own shit, I completely convinced myself that Squeeze had ratted me out. What pissed me off even more was that I wouldn’t have been on the run and dealing with all this if the mu’fuckin’ rat bastard, Squeeze, hadn’t called me and begged my ass to ride with them when they were rolling on Nine and his crew that night! I vowed that if I made it up out of this present situation without getting bagged, that I was gonna go all out and get back at Squeeze and his punk ass! Even if I had to murk that fool, I was willing!

      I was certain that he had gotten Marissa’s license plate or something when he walked us out of the club that night. That had to be how the cops rolled on me. How else would they have known where I was resting?

      About two more hours passed and I just couldn’t take it anymore. If the cops were still staking out the area that I was in, then I would just have to take the loss. I was ready to come out. There was no easy way for me to get from underneath the car. In fact it seemed like it was harder for me to get from underneath than it had been for me to originally get under it. I finally managed to free myself.

      As I stood up and brushed myself off, I felt very lightheaded and mad nervous. My wrists, arms, and chin were scraped up from the concrete and I smelled worst than a street bum in Times Square. Dogs were barking and I wanted to get out of that location as soon as possible so that I could take off my pants and get out of my underwear, which had been violated with feces.

      I wouldn’t leave any evidence lying around. I knew I had to keep on my underwear and just troop it. My pants were sagging real low and it wasn’t because I was trying to be stylish, it was because of the crap that was in my underwear! I couldn’t walk fast as I had to walk real gingerly.

      I had no money and I knew that I definitely couldn’t take a chance on calling or going back to Marissa’s house. I figured every cop in the city was working overtime looking for my black ass so I had to be real careful about who I reached out to and where I went.

      Marissa lived in an area known as Mt. Airy. Other than her, I didn’t know anyone who would be cool enough to let me hideout at their crib. Plus, I knew that the cops would have some type of financial reward for anyone that would rat me out and turn my black ass in so I wasn’t trying to hide out with anybody. The only person that I could think of who was gutter and cool enough to not rat on me was this cat named Grams.

      I had met Grams when I first came to Philly. I would buy weed from him and we would kick it with each other. He had lived in Philly all of his life and he knew a whole lot of people from New York, so maybe that was why the two of us was cool wit’ each other from the jump. I had hung out at his crib a few times and I knew that he lived not too far from Mt. Airy in a section called Glennside.

      Glennside was about a mile or so away from Mt. Airy and since I didn’t know the Philly streets like I knew the New York streets, I had to take the only route to Glennside that I knew, which meant that I had to walk down Wadsworth Ave. Although it was real late, I knew in my heart that somebody on Wadsworth Ave was gonna recognize me, or that some cop on patrol was gonna spot me and bag my ass.

      The funny thing about being wanted by the police is that you really get paranoid and think that the whole world knows you and is concerned with you. But as I walked I had to remind myself that most people wouldn’t be able to recognize me that easily.

      My heart pounded as I walked towards Grams’ crib. I tried to walk as calm and as cool as I possibly could with a sack-load of shit in my pants and I hoped like hell that Grams was home. Finally after about forty-five minutes of walking, I reached Grams’ crib. All of the lights were out inside his house and I wondered what I should do. I didn’t exactly know his living situation that good and I didn’t wanna be interrupting anything. Since I didn’t have many options, I rang his doorbell.

      After ringing for about five minutes I got no answer so I began knocking real loud. I didn’t wanna knock too loud because I didn’t want any of the neighbors to look out their window and get suspicious. Finally after about two more minutes, Grams came to the door.

      “Who da’ fuck is at my door at this time of night?” Grams growled with an obvious attitude.

      “Grams, what up, baby pa’? It’s me, Promise.”

      “Who?”

      “Promise from New York! I’m in some shit. Open up the door.”

      Grams opened the door. He was real groggy and I could tell that I had woken him up. He had on some slippers, boxer shorts and a wife beater.

      “Oh! What da’ fuck? What up, nigga?” Grams asked as he reached to give me a pound.

      As I stuck out my hand, Grams let out a yell of disgust.

      “Oh shit! What the hell is that smell? Nigga, where you been at? You smell like muthafuckin’ shit! You drunk, nigga?”

      “Nah, nah, I ain’t drunk. Yo, it’s a long story. I’ll fill you in but on the real, I need somewhere to stay tonight. I ain’t got no cake on me or nothing.”

      “Where your girl at?” Grams asked, sounding like he didn’t wanna take my smelly ass in.

      “Honestly, I don’t even know. Ahight look, you like one of the only niggas that I vibe wit’ out here in Philly so I can be straight up wit’ you and don’t have to worry about you opening your mouth. You kna’imean? You a real nigga and real recognize real!”

      “Fo’sho!” Grams replied.

      “Ahight, check it. I ain’t never told nobody in Philly this. Nobody except for Marissa but before I came to Philly, I stayed in B-More for a minute. That was because I was on the run and I’m still on the run but shit just got a whole lot thicker.”

      “What’s up?”

      “About a year ago when I was in New York doing my thing, I got into a situation and I bussed down a cop.”