In the early 1990's, I drove a cab around west Philedelphia for some extra cash. It wasn't much, but I got along just fine. I never truly liked living in Philly. The low-paying jobs, the pollution, and the gang-related violence, oh God the violence. I witnessed a lot of scary shit. I remember even watching a poor mother drag her son away from a horrid fight on a basketball court. While she took her son away, the two men who attacked him laughed. That's right, they fucking laughed. It was at that mere moment that I decided I had had enough of Philedelphia.
I took a plane to California. I wanted to see if I could make a life there. Unfortunately, I had to return to driving people around the city in my taxi.
California wasn't much different from Philedelphia. There was still some violence and what not. I enjoyed the view form my apartment balcony. I also went to a nice sport's bar down the street almost every Friday night.
Things were great for about a week, then I met someone who I never thought I would see again. It was someone I'd seen before.
While on my shift, the boy that I saw get beaten up and dragged away by his mother hopped in the back seat of my cab.
He said one thing to me.
"Yo Holmes to Bel-Air."