“Prove yourself, nigga” KillerBoy said has he pushed the pistol into Tyrone’s hand.

The gun felt cold in Tyrone’s clammy palm. In that moment, he wished he was back on his grandmother’s farm down in the delta, but those days were gone, just like his grandmother. She passed away little over a year ago, and now he stayed with his auntie in West Philly.

“Man up, and get in there” Jamal said as he shoved Tyrone toward the liquor store.

The clerk behind the counter knew the drill, and emptied the cash drawer as Tyron pointed the gun at him. The clerk dropped a roll of quarters, and Tyrone bent down to pick it up. Tyrone never saw the clerk grab a shotgun.

The first blast hit Tyrone in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. The second shot struck him in the side of his head, ending any chance he had for an open casket. Tyrone pissed himself when his muscles relaxed, and as the darkness engulfed him, he prayed that heaven would be like his grandmother’s farm.