I was born and raised in West Philadelphia. I spent most of my time around home, relaxing, chilling with friends, occasionally playing some basketball at the playground nearby. I kept to myself. It was a nice life. That all changed after I got involved with some violent thugs, which led to me getting jumped and beaten. The fight might not have been anything major, but it was enough to cause my single mother to fear for my life. She sent me away to live with my aunt and uncle in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in all of Southern California. I'm terrified of flying, so I used all my savings taking the entire journey by taxicab, a very long drive. It was evening when I arrived, around 7 or 8 o'clock p.m. The setting was so fancy as to be described as regal, and finally, I felt like a prince.

I am flesh, blood, and bone

Slowly, inevitably becoming my father, fashion sense and all. Bootlegging movies. Lancing at windmills. Falling ass backwards into good luck.

Scrabble, computers, hiding, napping and parallel parking.

Nothing. I melt into the night.

Books: I think all my favorite authors are dead guys now.

Films: There is no film in this world that is impossible for me to pirate, and I do that constantly, so I have seen everything. Seriously, try me.

Music: I hate the fuckin' Eagles.

I like food that I cook, or pretty much anything once it's past 9 p.m.

Curse words

Rice

Comfortable sneakers

Blue jeans

Naps

You, bebe. It was always you.

whether or not the universe will cease expanding tonight and start to contract...

obsessively cleaning my guns.

Mike Tyson signed my chest at the L.A. airport. He said, "you being such a bitch, I thought you might have titties." He didn't laugh or even smile, just walked off... with my heart.

you'd like to grab a beer sometime.