Nothing stands tall in South Los Angeles. Even the projects lack the nerve to rise more than a few floors. It's a flat body sprawled out on the wrong side of downtown. A chalk outline. The Gods take advantage of this, perched only a few stories above streetlevel in palmtrees, watching the tragedy and comedy they've created. Watching the slaves of circumstance.

"My momma womb and my daddy nuts!" Charles snapped back. He had been waiting to say that, even though he says it everytime somebody asks him where he's from, something he's frequently asked.

"You hear this li'l nigga?" Toons asked, but none of his homeboys bothered to answer. They heard him. They all wanted to know what youngcuz had up the sleeve of his white tee, or at his waistline, to poke his chest out and show his heart in what was decidedly the wrong place and wrong time. Toons, who had an established rep as the not-to-be-fucked-with looney nigga, respected the upstart's G and honored the challenger with an offer.

"Catch my fade then, li'l homie."

"You can take y'fade to the barbershop, my nigga." Chuck said, hoping to stir up some residual sherm rage from his locc'd aggressor. "Nigga look like somebody spilled Cocoa Puffs in his kitchen."

Charles had a reputation too, and he stayed high off it. He earned the name Chuckems for how he threw them thangs. The Black Wesley Snipes they called him. So black that light refused to touch his skin, fearing it would never escape if it did. That's how he stayed cool in the heat of battle.

The Sun wouldn't fuck with Chuck, so it instigated Toons instead. How dare this nigga only 75% his size flex on him? Toons knuckled up, making small circles with his jab hand. Chuck followed the lead with a dance, knowing he had too much of a reach handicap to try any Ali shit. The gangster's swing was unpolished and young Charles shuffled in close to his partner. Up close he weaved in blows to Toons' kidneys and ribs, winding the big man. A few bobs opened the opportunity for a landing beneath the looney one's chin. He felt like Little Mac from Punch Out!! when his feet left the ground mid-uppercut. That was his last sensation before waking up on the black-top some indefinite measure of time later.

Gotta stay out his reach next time, Chuckems noted to self as he hugged the tar pavement like immediate kin.

"What you think, li'l man?" Toons asked with genuine curiosity, "You thought I was finna lose at shadow boxin'?"

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