“Your father wants you to be more than the streets, you know that.” Quiet responds. The image of Quiet snickers. “What, you gonna preach to him now?” The image scuffs. “What you mean being fucking critiqued by and kissing the ass of white people for the rest of my fucking life. To what? Feel like I have some freedom, some power over my life? This.” The Kid pulls out his gun. “This is power. Our gang. The respect and money these people give us. That's power. That's freedom.” The Kid says as he hands Quiet some weed.

        Quiet takes it and begins to roll up. “Yeah!! Roll that shit up!” The image of Quiet cheers in the backseat. Quiet rolls the blunt and lights it up. “Like don't get me wrong I love Bumpy. He's basically my father's brother, been my uncle my whole life.” The Kid continues. “But I am your fucking son. When a king dies or leaves the son takes the throne.” He finishes as Quiet goes to hand him the blunt. “He's got a point you know?. Birthright of the son and all that shit.” The image of Quiet interjects puffing his own blunt. “I thought you hated running the numbers?” Quiet asks.

     The Kid takes a puff. “I do. Shits just an excuse for The Old Head to feel like he's giving back to his people in every way. But we all know hardly anyone ever changes their lives off the money they win from the lottery if any.” The Kid responds. “So why do you want to take over so badly then? Just to say you Him.” Quiet retorts while puffing on the blunt. “Yeah nigga.” The Kid responds matter-of-factly. “Plus there's real money to be made out here and we got the manpower and resources to make it. Hell got the S.A.M.F tryna push weight on our side of the streets more and more every mutha fucking day anyways. Might as well beat 'em to the shit and control the outcome and flow of shit.” The Kid states.

      Quiet hands him the blunt. “You know your father ain't going for that shit.” Quiet says. “Well seeing as he'll have his presidential duties to take care of. I don't see him being around much to say shit. Why you think his ass is tryna hand everything over to Bumpy? He knows he won't be around.” The Kid retorts. He takes a puff of the blunt. The image of Quiet gets up real close to Quiet and whispers. “You gonna have to keep an eye out for that one.” The image of Quiet blows out a big cloud of smoke. They continue driving, making pickups, and talking.

     That night a drug deal takes place in an undisclosed warehouse. About ten men sit in a room together. Five men on one side and five men on the other. A guy comes busting into the room. “We got a tip this place is gonna get hit.” He says frantically. “When?” One of the dealers asks. “Right now.” The guy says as he pulls out two pistols chuckling. A guy and a girl come walking in holding AK's. The guy with the AK speaks.

     “Howdy gentlemen, we came for the drugs and the money. So just hand it over to my friend Fou Max here and we'll be on our way.” “And be quick fore We start squeezing in this bitch.” Fou Max adds.

      The dealers begin to hand over the cases of drugs and money slowly. “Yeah there we go, don't want no innocents getting hurt.” The guy with the AK says. Fou Max puts his pistols away and takes the AK's as the guy and the girl get the cases of drugs and money. Fou Max aims the AK's at the dealers. “Don't fucking move or try nothing! I'll put your ass on the fucking news tonight!” He yells at the men.

  The guy and the girl head out quickly. One of the dealers in the room looks like he is going for his gun. Fou Max unloads on the whole room with the two AK's, killing everyone in the room. He chuckles to himself as he leaves the room.

  As Quiet lays asleep he dreams back to when he and Stan last talked before Stan left for the war. “I know you think I'm crazy but I just want to do something that's different.” Stan says. “Well, gettin' your fuckin' head blown off is different.” Quiet chuckles. “You laugh but why don't you come with me?” Stan questions. “I ain't fighting no white man's war.” Quiet retorts. “Come on man I thought we always dreamed of being more than the streets. That all of this was just a means to an end.” Stan responds.

          “And what getting blown up for Uncle Sam makes us worth something? Are our lives meaningless cause some label us as thugs and gangsters?” Quiet asks angrily. “That's not what I meant, you know that.” Stan replies. “Than what the fuck you getting at nigga?” Quiet questions. “I don't know man. I've just always felt like I have this overwhelming weight on my shoulders. Like I have some purpose. Some power to change the world, save lives. And I guess I just wanna live up to that feeling you know.” Stan says.

       “And you think getting blown up in someone else's war is gonna give you a feeling of fulfillment?” Quiet responds. “This war could possibly change the world as we know it forever. Don't you want some part of that? Don't you want some say in how the world turns out?” Stan asks. “We both know the world don't listen to people like us till the guns to their head and it's too late.” Quiet responds. Quiet startles awake and sits up in the bed. The image of Quiet appears laying down in a lazy boy across the room, he looks over at Quiet in the bed. “Did you just dream about another nigga? Ah man, don't tell me you gay? Is you?” The image questions. Quiet just puts a pillow over his head and goes back to sleep. – end of nineteenth issue??