Spoiler! :
A lot goes down in this place.
People stuff coins 'n dollar bills down my throat and expect to see me give them shugs back. Well, I ain't that type 'a machine. I don't go for those wrinkled, messed up Jacksons with gum stains on the all-seeing eye. What kind of a player they think they're screwin' with?!
No, I gotta get 'em straight up, organized-like, one at a time. I gotta count up my bills. I ain't the man you gon' see makin' it rain. Shugs, I hate the rain... It messes up my top coat. I go for the coin, but ain't lot a brothas 'bout to give me any. Shug, if you ain't gon' give me shugs right the first time 'round, you better put your flask out the door and not come back. See, them kids 'round here call me Snack cuz I got the DL on everything. I feed it to 'em straight, you know? I don't do no retail sale. After me, what you got is street shug. I'm the nuggin last level of professional you can get, and you ain't gettin' it right from no one but me 'round here.
I ain't one to speak much, 'cuz words are worth a lot and I'm straight up cheap. Them nuggin boys come askin' for all kinds of shug and all I gotta say is the price. Bubba came swaggin' up yesterday with two Georges and he didn't get what he asked for 'cuz I don't fancy him much. I got some chips on my shoulder, sure, but he could buy them off easy with a couple coins.
I get my stuff from them high-up trucks that kids chase after when they get bored with kickin' rocks around. The man comes and packs it all into my safe chest and locks it up. I don't even got the lock for it, just the man does. But I know what's in there, and them boys ain't gettin' in there either, even when it gets dark cuz' I've got lights on at all times so they can see what they're dealin' with.
The man that packs my safe chest all up with the good stuff came back in today and those nuggin boys Bubba shuffles 'round with were watchin' him. I ain't gon' tell him 'bout them cuz' then they'd jump him, but I can do enough to shoot mind pistols up their noses 'til they know what's good for them. They drag their saggin' flasks off and I don't see them for a while.
Once he locks up and leaves the boys come back. Bubba's draggin in the back like he doesn't wanna be here and I don't blame him. He knows they gonna get in deep shug if they bash me up but he ain't gonna speak up cuz it's either me or him and he ain't gonna go and tell his Momma he's in a gang just cuz he got a beatin' from runnin' his mouth too much. You don't get far in one of them street gangs just spoutin' out your thoughts like a water sprinkler.
First the tall guy out in front come up to me. He ain't talkin' much either but he goes head and shoots in one of those wrinkled Jacksons I hate so much. I spit it at him and he clocks my side once, stickin' the Jackson back in it's place. I take it this time. He goes and asks for this long list'a stuff but I'm feelin' foul and don't feel like servin' him any of my professional stuff. I drop him some of them chips I got on my shoulder and he kicks me hard 'til I drop more. I still ain't gon' speak but I let out a screech. I'ma have a nice bruise there that I can show to that better professional man with the lock and the truck when he comes back.
The second boy drags himself up but he ain't gonna get far without pullin' up his pants cuz he's got nothing but a shoestring tyin' them up on his flask. If I wasn't so professional 'bout this I'd crack a joke, but if I did I'd be cracking too. He sticks in what looks like a nice pretty lookin' dollar bill but it tastes like paper when I get it. I toss it back at him. He don't like that either and the tall guy that kicked me came back and did it again. But see, I'm tougher with every blow, and only my top coat got a dent this time. I went ahead 'nd dropped him a chip too, from my knee where I gone got myself kicked.
Then Bubba came up lookin' all sad and stuff like I was gonna get killed. I don't know why he's bein' all sad bout takin' some good stuff from me but he got the worst look on his face like he been smokin a bad pixie stick. I can't tell if Bubba's gonna hit me when I don't give him the stuff but he didn't need to get hurt and neither did I, so I turned out my lights and prayed those boys would turn their flasks around and leave.
Too bad they ain't scared of the dark. The tall kid and the one with the shoelace belt came and pulled a nuggin gun out of both of their pants. I guessed that was what was weighin' them down so much, but if I had said that I would've gotten shot way more than just the once that shot my glass away. Them nuggin boys shot off that fancy lock I could never figure out too. My face done broke into pieces, the glass shatterin' into what would'a been some pretty pictures if it wasn't because of me gettin' broken. They started kickin' my sides with their feet and takin' all kinds of snacks out of me all stealin-like. They didn't leave nothin' but the Mentos, and even they were scattered on the ground with the glass. I wanted to cry out for the man with the lock so bad but even my screeches were gone, and I ain't one to talk much, so I didn't.
I was broken and on my side when the man came back to fill my safe chest with the good stuff. He fixed my body up real good and even got me a new top coat. This one says "Snacks" real nice at the top and my lights turn on cuz of a timer every night, but they don't come on durin' the day so I don't waste my energy givin' stuff people don't need. I have these new sammiches called Twinkies and most of the people that get stuff from me all professional get some of those when they drop by. I guess the man with the truck told 'em bout my OCD and how I can't stand them messy bucks, and most of them got these nice straight one dollar bills that just slip right into my slot. And ain't one of those boys come back since I got my glass knocked out, and for good riddance. I ain't about to talk much to them, let alone give 'em more than a real chip on my shoulder.
Spoiler! :
Oh, and if you know what perspective I was writing from, PM me and I'll tell you if you were right! 
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