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Tyroil Smoochie-Wallace · **01-02-2015, 04:36 PM**

"College football is simple. Get on the field and do your job. If you ain't doing that, what's the point of being on the team. Try your best, perform at your best. I did all that, and the result was the era of Tyroil Smoochie-Wallace. The 32 year old running back from The U. I was in my prime. Nothing could stop me. No one could stop me. I was talked about on radio stations and ESPN. Everytime Miami was playing a team, our game was the main feature on any sports channel. 2012 was the best year for the University of Miami's football team, and it was all because of me. Later in that same year, I was called up to represent the East for the East/West Collegiate Bowl. We ended up winning, and I scored the first touchdown of the game. I was on the top of college football. The title of 2012 College Football MVP was calling my name. If I spiraled down, it would be the end of my career. Unfortunately for me, that's exactly what happened. This is my story of my troubles with law which practically killed the era of Tyroil Smoochie-Wallace."

The year is 2013. The camera flashes to African American kids playing basketball in the street without shirts. Their mothers watch on from their porch stairs. The camera then flashes to Tyroil who walks along the sidewalk where the kids are playing basketball. He is seen wearing a plain white t-shirt with sagged pants and solid black Vans. His hair flows in dreadlocks.

"Hey Tyler! Tell your mother I said 'Hi'.", a woman says from her porch

Tyroil waves at her while he walks on. Some African American punks sit on the street corner. Tyroil passes by them and gives them all fist bumps.

"Keep up the good work, Tyroil!", they say.

"Man, I love Miami.", Tyroil says to himself as he walks past them.

Tyroil continues to walk along the sidewalk when an old 1991 Chevrolet pulls up next to him. Rap music is blaring inside the car. The young African American driving the car turns down the music.He rolls the window down.

"Tyroil, my nigga!.", he says.

"Who the fuck are you?", Tyroil asks.

"That doesn't matter right now, nigga. I just got one question for you. Do you like to smoke pot?"

"What the fuck is this? Are you a cop?"

"No I'm not a cop. Just answer the question."

Well sure yeah. It's good. But if the press found out I do smoke pot, I'd be in some serious trouble, nigga."

"The press isn't going to find out. If you come with me, I could drive you down to this pot dealer gang right now and we could roll some fresh blunts in just under twenty minutes. It's legit. No one will snitch, I promise you."

"Fo' real? Nah you trippin', homie."

"No I swear, these guys are the best dealers in Miami. They don't mess around, nigga."

"Alright then. But I swear if this is a setup. I'ma cap yo' ass."

"It's not a setup, homie."

Tyroil gets into the car. They pull away from the curb.

"So, have you done business with this gang before?"

"Oh yeah. Plenty of times. These guys have the real hookup on some good weed."

"I never got yo' name."

"Its Bismarck Johnson, but you can call me BJ, nigga."

"Alright, BJ. Haha, that's funny man."

"And being called Tyroil isn't funny?"

"But my real name is Tyler."

"Then, why do you call yourself Tyroil, homie?"

"I don't know. Nickname I guess."

Five minutes later, they arrive at this shady, abandoned two-story warehouse in the ghetto part of Miami. A 2003 Dodge Charger is parked out in front.

"That's their car, nigga."

"It's pretty nice for a couple of drug dealers."

"Like I said, these guys are the best dealers in Miami so they can afford some pretty nice shit."

Tyroil and BJ get out of the car and head inside the abandoned warehouse. They take the stairs to the second floor where the three of them await.
All of three of them are heavily muscled with tattoos all across their arms. A black hat faces backwards on the main gang member.

"I brought Tyroil, just like you said."

"Wait, what do you mean just like you said.", Tyroil whispers.

"Take a seat.", the main member says.

They both take a seat on the chairs in front of the gang members.

"You got the money?"

"Right here."

BJ takes $200 out of his pocket and hands it to the gang member. The gang member starts to pull out the weed when the police sirens are suddenly heard.

"This was a setup!"

"Looks like you're not just another dumb jock, are you?"

The main gang member gets up and punches Tyroil straight in the face. Tyroil falls out of his chair from such a powerful impact and hits his head onto the floor with a loud thud. Tyroil lays onto the floor. The main gang member places the bag of weed into Tyroil's pocket.

"Let's get the fuck out of here!"

The four of them leave the warehouse before the cops come. The camera fades to black on Tyroil laying flat on his back on the floor awaiting the police's arrival.

[Image: To_be_continued.jpg]

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