The rain pattered down softly upon Daquan's corrugated iron roof as he sat upon Daquan junior's bed, "we wuz kangs" he uttered while pointing to the paper mache bust of an Egyptian pharaoh.
"We being kept down by the white man, our history erased and our people subjugated" Daquan proceeded, glaring out through the window at the full moon, a jar of peanut butter in his hand.
Tears started to fill Daquan's eyes as he imagined what could've been if his people weren't denied their heritage; the image of a Sphinx and a pyramid on the horizon of a bustling Egyptian city permeating his mind.
Daquan Jr. sat up in his straw-filled cot, anticipating Daquan to elaborate, instead Daquan puts out his torch and mutters with a sour tone "goodnight,sleep tight lil nigga, you a kang"
The darkness in the room envelops the two, rendering them virtually invisible if not for the faint moonlight as though God was watching them that peaceful night, smiling upon his chosen people.
Shaniqua, lounging upon her chair on the porch, beads of sweat making their way down her forehead, looks up at Daquan, and with an assertive tone gracing her words she asks "this your day over nigga, I be expectin that child support payment next week"
Looking defeated, Daquan manages to force the words out through his pontoon lips, "don't worry queen, da crack money comin thru tomorrow"
And so the story concludes, with Daquan surviving only long enough to make it to the sidewalk, where a rival gang's car was waiting for him, its occupants ready, guns in hand, prepared for the relentless slaughter to follow.
A child left without a father, a baby momma left without her man, a mother left without her cherished son.
All because Daquan dindu nuffin wrong.