Outskirts Press, INC.

Gangs, drugs & violence! What would you do?

This is the dynamic true story, of Shabazz Born Allah (The Bazz) and his determination to survive the gang dominated, drug infested, violent streets of Asbury Park New Jersey. Come take a trip down memory lane, as The Bazz relives a journey he calls "The Making of a Made Man".

Walking out the store I paused to crack open the bottle that now was ripe to my satisfaction for consumption. I leaned my head back to take a gulp and from my peripheral, I caught what appeared to be an ominous shadow of bodies. Lowering my gaze and squinted my eyes to get better focus. Upon opening my eyes, the shadow materialized into an estimated 20 adversaries. Akin to a movie at its climatic element, everything began to move dawdling. The sound of music did not resonate in my head. Breathing over the metronome of my heartbeat and an excited calm was all about me.



I met the buildings door with a shoulder block that would have left a smile on my coach's face. Hurdling up the stairs, I began yelling "They on their way up the street"! All I hear is the sound of scattering footsteps and sneakers squeaking as if an army was out to man their stations for battle. I can assure you that a simple argument was not on the menu of tonight's engagement. You see, that unfriendly mob that was on their way up the street was the A.B.B's. I was rashly hurrying to warn the T.N.B's. To tell you the truth I never even knew why or how the rival started.



The only thing that mattered to me was the safety of my friends and I. Reaching the Third floor I saw that everyone except D-Bunt ran out the back door. The A.B.B.'s must have seen me run into the building because they crashed through the door of the first floor. D-Bunt wrestled to open the locked door of an empty apartment so that we could recede into it. Once inside the apartment we barricaded the door with a decaying living-room sofa.



The barricade bought us a little time to scuffle around in the dark. We were in search of weapons and refuge. D-Bunt located a milk crate filled with empty Old English, Private Stock & St Ides 40 oz bottles. The door of the apartment was now taking a beating from the A.B.B's that were forcing their way in the apartment. Refuge was out of the question and a jump out of the window was nothing short of three stories above the ground.



D-Bunt and I looked at each other clearly thinking the same thing "What are we going to do"! Processing an answer was out of the question because the A.B.B's broke past our lounging barricade and was in the apartment with us. D-Bunt grabbed the milk crate and we fled to what would be the master bedroom. I pressed my back against the wall near the opening of the door-less room still holding my juice bottle saying to myself "I got a clear shot at whoever comes through this door first".