Young man, I hear you and your friends are considering fingering me in that unfortunate incident the other day. No respect! You know, this is my neighborhood. You and your friends should show me some respect. You should let me wet my beak a little. And by that, I mean you should shut your fucking mouths. And give me $238. For your own protection. And I’ll forget the insult. You young punks have to learn to respect a man like me! Otherwise, my crew will come to your house. And your family will be ruined. That’s how this outfit rolls. Of course, if I’m wrong about this little rumor I’ve heard, I’ll take a little less. And by less, I only mean a hundred bucks less. $138. Now don’t refuse me.
I’m beginning to think life is portraying art with this Marvin Harrison situation in Philly. Nobody from the area is talking. Nobody. Marv’s a quiet, soft spoken guy (who holsters large anti-aircraft weaponry). And he apparently has his neighborhood in check. Word has gotten out in north Philly: Don’t go against the Black Hand.
I guess I mean that literally and figuratively.