CHICAGO -- HIDE AND SNEAK WITH THE POLICE

Only a 3-story Apartment Building

I meant sneak, not seek. I had to rush head long into a game of chicken with the cops. And I was cornered...

Leg dangling out of the window... Three stories up...

The enforcers of imprisonment were so close they could smell my unwashed underwear. They burst into the room. It was either capture or fracture. I jumped, remembering something I read in a book on Ninja training. Roll to the side of your feet when you land from a long jump down.

And it worked. Thanks black clad pajama men of old. I looked up to see the cop putting his leg out the window. He quickly choked on his half-eaten sprinkled doughnut. Well, I had to stick to a sprightly stereotype and defend the cliche. The cop second guessed this jump. He wan't willing to do anything to get his man. He flagged the other beat cops with him to head back down the stairs.

I had speed and 30 seconds on them.

I ran through the buildings of the massive apartment metropolis. Ran into one building, and hid in a utility cubbie hole that I had to crawl into. I'd rather fight alligators naked than be in close quarters with spiders that have 8 eyes to look at you. It was dark. I couldn't smoke cigarettes for fear of the smoke sending a Tee-Pee signal to the rancid rioters of police. I don't know how long I stayed under there -- but when I poked me head up, a squad car was driving by.

These turd feathers didn't want to go away. Finally I exited after the Lord knows how many hours I stayed in the presence of my sworn enemies -- spiders. I heard some girls talking outside of a door. I knocked, and sex answered -- well, only in my pubescent brain touting a bestial nature of instinct at that age did I hear them. I looked like Spider Man with cobwebs and fear plastering my face. I used their phone and visually molested them as they were doing yoga in the living room.

I was the dude in the background.

My baby's mother came in the Flintstone wagon with no Penthouse Forum action going on with the yoga girls. Hey, I don't think like that anymore -- but most teenage boys have turned a large number of socks into concrete after a few trysts with 2-D women in magazines or television.

WEST SIDE TILL WE DIE

So I made it to the Westside to be embraced by the Mafia Insane Vice Lords. I went to a high-ranking Universal's house and chilled with his mom, grandmother, and Tweetie -- one of the chief girls running the Mafia Insane Vice Lords. Grandma Lord was smoking weed like it was going out of style. Lil. Tony never did come back in a reasonable time. He was too busy buried in hypocrisy smoking crack.

We left. Spent the night in the car hearing sporadic gunfire. I woke up in the backseat. It was winter, so the windows were fogged. I thought Rooster the Vice Lord driver was outside the car looking to see if I was awake.

Only Rooster sat up in the frontseat! 

Someone was outside the car trying to see if someone was in it so he could jack the car. Rooster and my girlfriend went home. She was on the time of the month timecard and was making the car smell like a can of Starkist.  Just lost another ten friends on Facebook. Sorry.

PHONE BOOTH BANGING

I think we were in five point star territory. But this is when I realized Vice Lords weren't only squaring off from the Insane family(Shabazz) and the Fluid Vice Lord family without Insanes in their title -- Insanes were fighting Insanes, and fluids fighting fluids. I also found out each branch were fighting internecine battles for control within their own branches.  Then there were the Gangster Disciples.

I was white. Deep in black country in westside Chi. I stuck out like a chopped off thumb in a hitchhiking competition. I went to use the pay phone because Grandma Vice Lord and Tweetie never departed from their device. It was a problematic premonition of the future of cell phones being implanted into the hands of users all across the globe.

I called Rooster to come pick me up, and when I did, a car full of G.D.'s drove by throwing up their symbol -- the pitchfork. I was off Washington near the Malcolm X college - ten minutes from VL headquarters in the four blocks of Holy City. I instinctively threw them down in disrespect.

The forks thrown down is disrespect to Gangster Disciples

I had .25 on me. Who would be scared of a 140 pound bag of wet diapers like me? Their bass system echoed out of distance, then it come from a different direction -- behind me. That gave me the time to look for cover and pull my gun.

They spun through the back of a vacant lot(also a derogatory term for Vice Lords, since we have a lot of vacant lots in Chicago where buildings were tore down.) That is stupid. But stupid people come up with stupid ways to defame.

I found a telephone pole that on the ground. I clambered toward it as the car doors were opening and three G.D.s were getting out of their ghetto cruiser opening fire with artillery. I was outgunned...

My gun...

Their guns...

I don't think I made it in one piece to that pole.

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