My story starts way back when, and it's quite the story to tell, I guess. I was born in Brazil in the main lands, away from all those awesome beaches and all, in a city called Anapolis. I don't remember much, but it was hard living there. We were poor - and I mean actually poor, not the fake-ass poor that people like to pretend to be in America. We never had a television or anything, I remember. You practically had to sit on the toilet to take a shower, the bathroom was so small, and it didn't even have a sink. My clothes were all hand-me downs from my cousins and all. It was dirty, and grimy.
And I loved it. I remember being out on the street every night with the kids on my street. I remember playing hide and seek in the middle of the night, and I remember playing football - I mean soccer - with my family while barefoot and it was awesome. We'd go around setting things on fire and generally be the kids that we were. It was cool - it was all I knew, and you know what, it was all I needed to know back then.
It all changed when I was about nine. We were cursed, me and my mom. My dad up and left. Just like that, without telling us or anything. He got half of his clothes, the family bicycle, and bolted. My mom figured we had enough of that cursed land too. Se she picked me up a couple months after and we tried to start anew - again. This time, in America.
Okay, crossing the border through Mexico is scary as hell, but we did it. We were hungry, starving, and had no money, but we managed. My mom liked Mexico - Spanish and Portuguese are close, see. She could communicate to Hispanics. So, she figured Florida would be a great place to settle down in. And, well, she was right. It made the move easier, being able to understand and talk to the people, even though they spoke a different language than us. We moved into the slums of Miami.
You know, some people call gangsters and thugs and stuff evil. I don't. I think they're misunderstood. They were great to us. Got us fake papers, even helped find my mom a job as a cleaning lady. They were my friends. I learned English with them, and rolled with them, and when I was 14, I was officially initiated into their gang. It wasn't that big of a deal. I just had to take 'em beating me up for a bit. None of the wounds were that bad. They were impressed. I was faster than most everyone. So, while mom went to a nursing school to try and get a job in the nursing field, I was on the streets, in and out of high school.
I'm good at stealing, turns out. I don't steal from small places, no way, but huge companies like Walmart and shit? Well, they don't deserve all that money. It ain't fair, when there are tons of good people in the streets who have nothing. I like to think that I'm that guy, Robin Hood. Robbing from the rich to give to the poor. I ended up dropping out of high school at 17, since I already had to repeat a grade to graduate, and got a 'job' workin' at the nearest Walmart. Those suckers never knew what hit them, I jacked so much shit. I was slick about it too. Yeah, life was great. I had a job, tons of girlfriends, and parties and stuff, plus a new Xbox 360.
Well, I wasn’t that slick. I got caught a couple of times, minor shit. But enough to know I had to back down and relax. I kept a low profile, you know? Was all smart and shit. So I went to this party. Huge ass – awesome shit. I was like, what, 21 then? Anyway, I was having a good time, macking on these girls, when I hear screaming from the upstairs. Now, I ain’t nosy or nothing, but I don’t like to hear girls cry none. My mom used to cry a lot. So I go up there, right, and I see this punk ass kid screaming at this poor girl, raising his hand, and I freak out. I burst into the room, grab him, and tell him to calm the fuck down and everything. I guess I was real loud, too, ‘cause everyone else came tumbling in after me. Dude – Jose, I know, ‘cause he’s a big dealer ‘round those parts – storms out, and the girl is like, about to run out too, but I stop her. After that? I guess it’s all history from there.
We got close – just friends, of course. I didn’t like seeing her with him. I convinced her to leave him, to stop with the pain. I told her I’d protect her. Except…shit, he had lots of connections. It wasn’t safe. So…so, we talk. We talk, and we decide to get the hell out. To New York, that’s where its at, right? And plus, she’s…she’s a special girl. She can do something with her body…make people trip with her sweat. Being the hustler that I am, I decided we should sell that shit.
So here we are 6 months and one long East Coast road trip later. We’re like them guys, Bonnie and Clyde, you know? She deals, I steal, and we live a pretty okay life. I’ve got her back, and she’s got mine, and that’s all we need.
