I hang up from talking to Bret. I’m thinking “…This guy may turn out to be just the ticket or he may be a complete asshole. I trust Russ but it’s been time to get paid. Hanging out with Lita ain’t cheap and it ain’t happenin without the bag. Happy wife happy life…” Fuck it. Enough Already. This just scratching the surface shit is yesterday’s action. I’m moving. I call Alvin again. This motherfucker finally decides to answer his damn phone.
ME: Bro. What the fuck?
Alvin: How you doin?
ME: How am I doing? That’s what the fuck you got for me after all this time? Man, where the fuck you been? I been looking all over Atlanta for your black ass for months. The futures game is still happin and we’re fuckin leaving money on the table.
Alvin: Yea, that’s fucking on me. I been in the County for 8 months. I got popped again for crack possession. Good news is this time it forced me to get clean. I’m better now. I think I’m done with that shit.
ME: That’s good Alvin. That’s good. I’m happy for you Man. I got work for you. That clean shit ain’t fuck up your game, did it? You’re the fucking best at what you do when you’re on your game Bro.
Alvin: Hell no; I can still sell snow to an Eskimo with the fuckin best of them.
ME: That’s what the fuck I’m talking about. How soon can re roll? Can you meet me in the Cascade Area this evening? It’s been time to fucking get paid Bro.
I hang up from talking to Alvin. I’m in a rental car on I-285 on the Southwest side of Atlanta. I’m headed to the sit down with Bret about running the room and taking this thing to the next level. I can’t fuckin depend on Alvin to hold things down with his crack addiction. I don’t give a fuck what he says about “…being better…” As it’s said, “…once a fucking addict always a fucking addict…” I move to the left to change lanes when a Ford F-150 Truck moving at twice the legal speed limit moves into the lane and clips my car’s rear end on the left side. The impact spins me around. I lose control of the vehicle, the car flips and goes airborne. This happens in seconds that feel like forever. As the car is flipping in the air, I’m thinking “…Son of a bitch. I’m this fucking close. After the shit I been thru, I’m fuckin goin out like this? That was the question I could see and hear in that moment. For what? Was this fucking it?
Read more about the Hunter story In These Rooms
The Struggle Continues...
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