How I Grew Up, Black In America

The Many Colors of S-Dot is a book title given to me by one of my major fiends. When I say major, I mean a major spender. Randy was a middle-aged trust fund baby who loved getting high on the weekends. A hotheaded peckerwood who always kept something fast and clean with something mean under the hood. A corn-fed husky Caucasian custoes was one of the many clientele I acquired through B. W.; the "Beaster," whom you will meet in Follow the Exit Sign 2. When I was first introduced to Randy, he lived in this modular home park just off Morgan Road, but had since moved to the Old Lakeview neighborhood southwest over near the W. K. Kellogg Airport. In the kitchen of his small, neatly kept bachelor pad was where we were when he blurted out what he thought I ought to name my first book. The book I later entitled Follow the Exit Sign: Hustler from the Start, Anointed at Heart follows what we have here today with this book that sets the stage, How I Grew Up, BLACK in America: The Many Colors of S-Dot. He blurted this amazing title out of the clear blue sky, with two-bagged chunks of crack he rolled around in his hand, to decide whether he wanted the ball or teen (measure of crack). Back when I was in the streets, I loved days like that, 'cause he had most likely just sold a car or two and would be continuously calling me back to back all that night. When serving Randy, I was only dabbling with the "raw, smack, blow" but had been knee-deep in the weed, coke, and crack. Out there in the streets getting it in, before I was twenty-five.