Radiq’s gold tooth shined in the darkness while he laid on the ground. He has been mugged. All you could see was the dim light from the street lamp and a man who just re-thought his priorities. Radiq stumbled back up with a new goal, purchase Chief Keef’s new song and find out the identities of those in the large group that just attacked him. His gold watch, which was his grandfather’s, who is not here with us anymore, was gone.
The next morning, Radiq put on his old but durable white Adidas shoes and strapped on his gold chain. He knew exactly who to go to first if he wanted to make his attackers beg in sorrow. He walked outside and over two blocks to Denires’ house, his childhood friend. He opened the door and walked inside the old, damp house.    
“Hey Denires! I need to talk to you.” yelled Radiq shrouded in the dark, Denires forgot to pay his electricity bill.
“Yeah, man?” mumbled a sleepy Denires walking out of his bedroom.
“Wake up, this is serious.” strongly stated Radiq, straightening his figure.
“What?” slowly said Denires.
“I was mugged on the streets by some random thugs. If I described them, would you know who they are?” said Radiq with an ounce of hope.
“Most likely.” Denires said.
“They were all wearing sweatpants and a vest with a wifebeater on. They looked fairly young from fourteen to eighteen. They also had brushed back greased hair.” Radiq said.
“You promise you wouldn’t go crazy on them if I told you who they were?” Denires questioned.
“Promise.” said Radiq.
“You were mugged by the 7th St Jeeby G’s. I knew who they were the second you said they wore vests and sweatpants. They hang out by the 7th St’s McDonalds. If you go up to them and ask for your stuff, they’d probably pay you back if you tell them you know me.” Denires said calmly.
Radiq stomped out without a further comment. Denires knew exactly what his intent was. Radiq was on the way to exact his revenge, exchange an eye for an eye, but he wasn’t going to be that fair about it.
Radiq got into his 1998 Honda Civic and turned on Barbie Girl by Aqua on the radio. Slowly Radiq and his trusty old Honda arrived at the McDonalds on 7th Street. He saw exactly who he wanted to see. Seven greasy little teenagers and a bag of chips spilt on the floor. He put on his leather jacket and ski mask. If he was going to teach a lesson, he was going to teach it in style. Radiq had a big black baseball bat sitting in the backseat of his car. He grabbed it like it was the last thing he needed to succeed in life. Slowly, the door of Honda Civic crept open and out came Radiq, covered in what would scare the daylights out of his grandma and a baseball bat.
The hoodlums which he all vividly remembered from last night, were all huddled up in a corner by the drive-thru. Radiq quietly snuck up behind the little rascals with baseball bat in hand, and what he saw enraged him. One of the hoodrats had Radiq’s gold watch wrapped tightly around his thin wrist, which was decorated with salt and ketchup. Radiq had had enough. He wrapped his hands around the baseball bat in a very firm grip and struck at the back of the head of the kid who was wearing his grandfather’s watch. The unlucky kid plopped to the ground after a very loud crack.
Screams of terror originated from his friends which were now gathered around his seemingly lifeless body and Radiq, a man who’s fallen from his original innocence. The 7th St Jeeby G’s ran from the man with the bloody baseball bat in hand.
“Maybe you should move to the KFC on 6th Street now!” screamed Radiq, who was now a delusional shell of his original self.
Several minutes later, the police arrived. Radiq was on the ground clutching his grandfather’s watch, mumbling things about the five-o and the KFC on 6th Street. The baseball bat, which was now covered in an atrocious amount of blood, lay at his side. Radiq was forcefully lifted into a cop car, and his only regret was not buying Chief Keef’s new song.