Educated Thug, maybe. Intelligent Hoodlum, quite possibly. But I know I am not, and never will be, a gangster.

I used to sell shit. No need to specify what shit is. If there was a market for it, and I could get my hands on it, I would sell it. Not to blow my own horn, but I was good at what I did. Not because I was some criminal mastermind. I was good because my brother was even better. I basically lived off of his table scraps. Trust me. I'm not complaining. He ate pretty damned good.

I wish I had more of a business accumen when I was doing this. I could never parlay my selling into anything more than pocket money. Even though I knew I should save 10% of every sale, I never did. Sounds petty right? Little things add up. I made quite a few sales a day. Enough to eat, dress, party, and LIVE at a hotel. All that was profit. Dayum was I foolish not to save some of that shit.

I'm not sure when, but the game started getting boring for me after a while. You can only live so fast for so long. There's no pension plan. And your longevity is only as good as your customers ability to not get caught. Cops love that big fish little fish shit. Although I never got caught, I had to live like I was about to get caught. There was a lot of looking over shoulders; lots of threats. Sometimes there was even violence. All this starts to wear on you. It's impossible to keep up. You either have to move on, or move out. I chose the latter.

For the first time in a long time I got a job. It wasn't much, but I went to it everyday. I began to shed the lifestyle that got me to where I was. Where was that exactly? Nowhere. I was living in the projects with a woman I didn't love, taking care of a child I did. Like an asshole, I taught her how the game is played. I was no longer a player, but I was still on the bench.

Then it happened. I got robbed. At gunpoint no less. Thanks for the respect. Most people knew I had some skills in some shit that was really painful to be on the wrong side of. That meant I wasn't going to be handled alone, or without weapons. There was two of them. One stayed in the background, hidden in the shadows. The other, the one with heart (and the gun) ran into the house. I didn't even get upset. I was on the phone at the time. I distinctly remember telling the person I was talking to to hold on because I was getting robbed. For some reason I wasn't afraid. I couldn't be. My son was upstairs asleep. All that mattered was that nothing happened to him.

They didn't get much. They didn't even get me mad. It was par for the course. I've robbed other people. It was only a matter of time before it happened to me. I took it in stride. I didn't even call the cops. Why bring heat to hell?

I learned a lot from that experience. I learned that I was ready to stop. There was more to life than making money. I had a son. Revenge? Why? Natural selection dictates that the old eventually get consumed by the young. The weak fall prey to the strong. I think the robber saw that he had as much as he could get. If he pressed his luck and went upstairs, I truly believe he wouldn't have gotten down on his own power. They would have carried him out dead. What was upstairs wasn't worth his life. There was a lot of it, but it rested underneath my son. Like any father, I would have given my all.

I've changed a lot since then. I've lost the nerve for it. I don't have any more 'bids' in me. I live within the law like everyone is supposed to. I miss the money, prestige, noteriety, and the fear I either earned or imposed. But I'd never go back. I'm not a gangster. I'm something better than that. I'm a DADDY.

Mr. Big