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."

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