Prayers in the Streetlight

Tyrone was bagging up the heroin

Chapter 1

Tyrone was bagging up the heroin. I watched him as he weighed out every baggy.

“That’s two grand.” He said, flippantly.

“You think we can sell all of it today?” I asked.

“Of course. The people, they crave it. They literally have to have it.”

It was December 31, pushing 4PM.

“Let’s hit the streets.” Tyrone said, as he began shoving the baggies in his pockets.

Just then, I got a text from my grandma.

“Lawrence, I just want you to know, Jesus loves you, and forgives you. I love you too, Lawrence.

“Who’s that?” Tyrone said.

“Just my grandma again.” I said.

Chapter 2

We posted up on Pacific Avenue. The street filled with prostitutes, hustlers, addicts, and pimps. And tourists, visiting the local casinos. In search of a good time.

We trafficked illicit drugs seven days a week. It’s how Tyrone got his Benz.

We were out, hustling, trying to make a grand each, the only way we knew how.

It wasn’t long before the addicts found us. We were always on the same block. It was our block and everyone knew it. Tyrone carried a 45 on his hip, just in case a junkie tried to pull a fast one. They were desperate people, our clientele.

By 6PM we had sold half our baggies. Tyrone held onto the cash. The police passed on through many times. They knew what was going on. Some of them were buyers. You wouldn’t think so but that’s just reality. They left us alone as long as we stayed low key.

By 10PM we were out of product.

“Let’s get out of here.” Tyrone said.

We both got into his car that was parked a block away, on Atlantic Avenue.

“Let’s go back to the crib.”

Despite the influx of cash, both Tyrone and I still lived in the ghetto. Back Maryland.

Everyone knew us here. Tyrone was big and strong, and everyone knew us since we were kids.

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