CHAPTER ONETen Years later
T.J. walked out of the halfway house dressed in a white T-shirt, tan Dickies and black Nike Cortez. A pair of black sunglasses called Locs sat at the top of his head. T.J. was a fat nigga that stood a solid five-foot-nine. He sported a fade that spun with waves and had bushy chin hairs you could braid into a ponytail.
T.J. made his way across the grounds of the halfway house, crossing the shade of a tree. As soon as he did, his eyelids narrowed into slits having met the beaming rays of the sun. He pulled the sunglasses over his eyes to shield them from the rays of sunlight and continued to G-walk toward the Honda Civic idling at the curb.
T.J opened the front passenger door and jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind him. He tossed his duffle bag i
