Things Change

Things Change


"To all the weed spots, niggas know I'm known to cop, all the good shit. Smell me nigga, I'm on some hood shit."


If my love series didn't lead you to Mr. or Ms. Right...sorry. Perhaps your shit might just be fucked up. Maybe your box is basic. Perhaps the dick is trash. Or it could be that you're too nice. It could be the bitch you fell in love with ain't shit. Maybe your nigga's an undercover meat glazer. Never forget the main event is you. It's your world. Love yours. The good shit will come.


I feel like telling a story.


Two kids come up from the young'n era, first meeting at age 9 in a hood summer basketball tournament. They enter as rivals but leave as friends. Not besties, not inseparable, but bonafide friends. You've met my moms I've been to your projects type friends. They ended up at different middle schools, but still competed against each other on the court. Every now and then both boys would get up to cop sneakers and watch girls together. Eventually, time passes and the two young men grow apart. They both attend the same high school, but nowadays one could care less about ball whom the other stuck with it, eager for the season to begin. As fate would have it, both men crossed paths the first Friday, breakfast to be exact. The baller was coming out the caf line with his French toast when he spotted his old pal, who was making his way from the seat to the top of the table where he was situated. Everyone, including the baller, stopped whatever they were doing and paid full attention. What they witnessed would set the tone for years to come. The homie, at the top of his lungs said, "Straight up, this a Wild 100s thing. If you ain't down with the Wild 100s...fuck you." He stepped down, and that was that. From then on, the Wild 100s boys was the squad to be. They kept to themselves, strictly. They were the largest, deepest clique in the entire school. 60 plus deep, and everyone stuck together. Half of them were money getters and there wasn't a pussy on the team. Of course, they instantly became fan favorites among the young ladies. They even had a rally cry. Their beloved and best known homie Tay Tay was killed the prior summer in a drive by, shooter never identified. Tay was the heart and soul of the Wild 100s boys, back when they were equally feisty, but only a third deep. They drew from his spirit. And from then on, it was a Wild 100s thing. And, for the record, the two young'ns who knew each other since age nine? They never spoke again in life. Things change.


#AtlantaFX is the shit. Childish Troy Glover is that nigga.


PS: #34BOS. We love you Big Fella. It's been one helluva ride. Respect, infinite.


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And for the record: this is a Crew UnB thing. If you're not down with us then fuck you. 115.