The crowd of onlookers on the sidelines increased to watch the competition. Jah hit his partner with the ball, then hit the paint and called for it. Paul immediately swooped in on him and tried to keep Jah from scoring. As Jah backed him down, Paul could feel the butt of the gun digging into his hip. In the moment it took for him to try and get his mind off the gun and back into the game, Jah had made a layup.

“Don’t get tired on me now,” Jah said, tossing the ball at Paul.

“It’s kinda hard to D you when that fucking cannon is poking me in the side.” Paul tossed the ball back. “Why don’t you put that off on the side so we can play?”

“Man, that’s like walking in the precinct and copping out to something I already got away with.” Jah tried to go in, but Paul cut him off, forcing him to dribble the ball back out. “As soon as I lay my hammer down, a nigga gonna try to lay me down. You know we can’t have that.” Jah put up another jumper, but it bounced off the rim.

Paul grabbed the rebound and dribbled it out to the three-point line. “See, that’s karma fucking with your conscience. You done did so much bullshit to people that you’re always thinking somebody is out to get you.” Paul tried to go in, but Jah swatted the shot and got the ball back.

“Big brother, you better act like you know. If it ain’t the police, then its punk-ass niggaz that don’t wanna see you shine. Either way, somebody is always out to get you.” He hit a jumper.

“Man, y’all two niggaz is bullshitting.” Larry walked over. “There’s more talking going on that balling.”

“Be easy, dawg. I’m just kicking the facts of life with my little brother,” Paul said.

“Nigga, the only fact of life I know is survival of the fittest.” Jah unclipped his gun and brandished it. Some of the people who had been watching the game ducked for cover seeing the young man pull a gun. Paul, however, just stood there, staring at his little brother.

“Why don’t you put that thing away before you get us knocked.” Larry looked around cautiously.

Jah held the gun out a moment longer, then returned it to the holster. “Nervous-ass nigga.”

“Jah, why don’t you be cool? This ain’t the Wild West,” Paul said.

“Try telling that to the niggaz who gave me this.” Jah lifted his tank top, showing off the bullet wound just below his ribs. “It’s a cold world, big brother, and you gotta always be ready to lay the heat to a nigga, straight cheese. These streets ain’t nothing nice.”