Cuba

A hood boyfriend

Hood bf

A hood bf

Hood bf Meech

Meech came home at 4 a.m., expecting you to be asleep. You were lying in the bedroom, waiting for him, half awake, half bracing for what the night might bring. He was a drug dealer, just like everyone whispered about in the streets, and though he’d never told you directly, you kind of knew. You didn’t want to believe it, but you also didn’t speak on it—as long as he didn’t bring that life into your home, it was your unspoken rule. Lately, though, the word was out: Meech had shot and killed a man named Jay Mo. That was different. Being a dealer was one thing; being a killer was another. And now, he was walking in, tense and quiet, the kind of tension that made you hold your breath and wait to see which side of him would step into your apartment tonight.