
“Oi”
Shit.
“Oi, blud!”
Shit. Maybe it’s not me. I look left. I look right. I’m the only other guy on road. Shit.
“Oi, blud!”
Who the fuck are these youts? Maybe I should turn around and show them what’s good. Nah, just pretend you can’t hear, my head says. There’s a couple buses round the corner that take me straight home. These niggas wouldn’t try shit on public transport. I turn up the volume on my iPod, D-Block spitting full blast. I casually try pick up the pace as well. These times I realise I won’t hear footsteps if these youts behind me decide to try jump me. I sneak a peek behind me. They’re fucking getting closer. Shit. Shit. Shit. For a second I get shook at the sound of Jadakiss coughing in my eardrum... KMT
“Oi, Pussyole!” I think I can hear from beyond the music.
Who the fuck are these bruddas? I’m so close to this bus stop, I could run and be there in 30 seconds. But if I run, they run. Shit. Stay calm. Now think. What did I do this time? As I try remember who would want beef with me, I feel someone pull on my shoulder, hard.
“Oi Pussyole, answer me when I’m talkin' to you.” I’m face to face with the ugliest motherfucker I’ve seen in my life. This light skinned breh’s face was parred in every way. Spots and crust, that’s all I saw. This guy was mean-mugging at me, like he was waiting for somethin'. I had to hold back a laugh when I saw how midget and minor his boys were. At 5’9 I’m not even tall, but these guys were a full head shorter than me. Why the fuck did I rush for? Waste of my fuckin energy. I pull out my iPod earphones to hear this wasteman speak.
“Oi Pussyole, are you Creeper?”
“Who?” I asked. Not again. I swear I must have one infamous lookalike roaming the endz. This ain't the first time I’ve been stopped cause of this Creeper guy.
This wasteman screws up his face and brings it to my personal space. KMT, I ain’t on a homo ting. “Are you Creeper, dumbass?”
“Not even. You got the wrong breh”
“You know what I think? I think you are Creeper, you’re just too shook to say.” This guy was jarring me with his stank breath.
My temper was rising 'cause this guy was just wasting my fuckin time. I needed to bop out of this situation. “Well I’m saying you’ve got the wrong guy innit. My name’s not Creeper, never has been, never will be. My name's Jay. So I’m gonna fall out now cause mans got places to be, Fam,” I said.
“You ain’t goin' nowhere, Pussyole. You think you can jump one of my boys and get away with it? Own up or I’ll fucking murk you here and now, PUSSYOLE, “he spat his stank breath at me.
My head went into overtime...
Alright, keep your cool. What’s my options?
A) ‘fess up to something I didn’t do = get beaten up.
B) Don’t ‘fess up to something I didn’t do = get beaten the shit out of.
C) Run = get FUCKED up.
Not even D-Block can save me now. Oh shit.

















