2010...Detroit, Michigan.

It was just a regular trailer trash party in the city. Nothing too special was happening. Sure people were doing donuts at the nearby Hospital parking lots with their sick whips. That is until he showed up.

Honestly, you never expected Marshall to show up with such a style that made all the women there want him and men want to be him. Even when he pulled up in the Pinto, he managed to look like he was pulling out of a Porsche.

Despite a garbage bag acting as a makeshift window, spray painted doors with the flames on ‘em, and Michigan plates with his name on ‘em, he was still so (for lack of a better term) awesome.

You were so amazed by him. Something compelled you to want to talk to him, especially since you had a tattoo of him right up off your ass (man), or as they call it in the streets of Warren, Michigan “tramp stamps”. Sure you probably wouldn't be able to put your “claims” on him, especially since he was “immune to Cupid”. But what was the harm in trying?’

You approach the Detroit rapper, but before you can even get a word in, he turns to you, takes a good look, and says,

“Holy… you the baddest little chain with the blades I ever saw.”

“Coleslaw containers, empty straw wrappers and all?” You ask with the biggest smirk across your face forming.

“Yeah girl. Plus you got more junk in your trunk than I do in my car.”