Man, fuck outta here. That boy was willing to shrug while them children got turned into dust until ol' girl told him to do it face to face. He trying to see them latkes. Bro said a DM? Ignore. Long back right in front of him? Done.
Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
Neighborhood.
Vic stared at the tiny gold studs glinting in Yesenia's ears, his throat tightening. The last time he seen her, she didn't have them, and now suddenly his baby girl's ears were pierced. Without him knowing. Without him being asked.
"What's with the earrings?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady as Jessica handed him Yesenia's diaper bag.
Jessica barely looked up as she folded a tiny pink sweater. "My mom took us to the mall yesterday. Said it was better to do it when they're babies. They don't remember the pain."
Pain. The word made something twist in Vic's chest. His daughter had been in pain, and he hadn't been there. Hadn't even known it was happening.
"You ain't think to call me first?" The words came out sharper than he intended.
Jessica rolled her eyes. "You’re for real right now?"
"Yeah," he shifted Yesenia to his other arm, where she cooed and grabbed at his chain. "I don’t know, I feel like that’s some shit that we should discuss first."
"We?" Jessica laughed, the sound brittle. "There is no 'we' making decisions, Vic. You're in Portland with your cousin while I'm here doing everything by myself."
Vic bit the inside of his cheek. Fighting wouldn't solve anything, especially not with Yesenia finally in his arms. He'd been looking forward to this since they agreed to it last week—his first time taking her for more than a few hours.
"I'm here now," he said, gentler this time.
Jessica nodded, but her movements became more frantic as she stuffed items into a second bag. "She needs to eat at noon, and then again at three. Make sure you warm the bottle but test it first—not on your wrist, actually put some on your tongue. And she'll need a nap by one-thirty or she gets cranky."
"I know, Jess," Vic bounced Yesenia gently, watching her chubby hands reach for his face, "My mom gonna be there and she’s raised a few of these. We turned out alright, for the most part.”
"And don't forget to change her every two hours even if the diaper doesn't feel full. And she's been getting this rash, so use the special cream in the side pocket. And—"
"Jess," Vic cut her off. "I got it. Thank you."
"Just don’t be blowing up my phone asking me a million questions," Jessica's voice wavered slightly. She turned away, busying herself with straightening items on the coffee table that didn't need straightening.
That's when Vic noticed—Jessica's hands were trembling. Her rapid-fire instructions weren't just about controlling him; they were about her own anxiety. She'd never spent a night away from Yesenia.
"Hey," he said, his voice softening. "She'll be alright. I promise."
Jessica nodded without looking at him. "I know. Just... call me if anything happens. Anything at all."
…
The nervous intern fidgeted with her ID badge as she approached her supervisor's glass-walled office. The weight of her discovery made her palms sweat against the tablet she clutched to her chest. She'd only been managing social accounts for three months and this felt above her paygrade.
"Um, Diane?" Megan hovered in the doorway, her voice barely above a whisper.
Diane looked up from her dual monitors. "What is it?"
"It's about Keshawn Chase's account." Megan stepped forward, turning the tablet around. "He retweeted this last night."
Diane's expression didn't change as she took the tablet, her eyes scanning the post. The silence stretched uncomfortably as she scrolled through the comments already accumulating beneath it.
"Take it down," Diane said, handing the tablet back.
"Should I... should I ask him first?" Megan shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
"No." Diane turned back to her monitors. "And don't forget to schedule the Chipotle post for this afternoon. The copy's already approved."
…
"We’ll slide after this," Jamar suggested, "You still got the hookup at the store?"
"Tommy got bottles on bottles already," Eric shook his head, "We don’t need that cheap-ass liquor."
Tommy grinned, pulling his practice jersey over his head. "If it’s getting me drunk, I don’t care. Bring all the cheap liquor you can, bro. We don’t discriminate at Tommy’s."
Laughter rippled through the locker room, the light hearted camaraderie of teammates who'd weathered another grueling practice together, Coach Cronin wanting to leave no stone unturned as they entered the teeth of their non-conference schedule.
The door swung open with a metallic creak, and the laughter slowly quieted down as Stefan made his way into the locker room. Stefan stalked to his locker, yanking it open with more force than necessary. The clang reverberated through the awkward silence. He could feel their eyes on his back, could practically hear the accusations in their minds.
"So what time should we pull up?" Jamar finally asked, his voice pitched low as if Stefan wasn't supposed to hear.
"Around nine," Tommy replied, equally quiet. "Just the usual crew."
Stefan grabbed his backpack, slammed his locker shut and slung his backpack over his shoulder, not bothering to change out of his sweat-soaked practice gear.
"Enjoy your little party," Stefan called over his shoulder, not turning back to see their reactions.
…
The bass pounded through Keshawn's chest as he leaned back against the plush leather couch, trying to look comfortable despite feeling anything but. The VIP section of LIV nightclub sat elevated above the main floor, giving him a perfect view of the writhing mass of bodies below. Bright and colorful lights swept across the crowd, occasionally illuminating upturned faces staring in his direction.
"You good?" Candace slid closer to him.
"Yeah, I'm good," Keshawn nodded, taking another sip of his water. He'd been nursing the same glass for an hour, hyperaware that he was two years shy of the legal drinking age. The last thing he needed was some random snapping a pic of him with a drink in his hand, especially after a four-point performance in a blowout loss to the Heat.
Candace placed her hand on his shoulder. "You can have a good time tonight. You don’t need to punish yourself and you sure as shit ain’t punishing me after I ain’t seen you in God knows how long."
As if on cue, a woman approached the velvet rope that separated their section from the rest of the VIP area. The security guard looked back at Candace, who gave a slight nod.
"Oh my God, Kandi!" The woman shrieked, clasping her hands together. "I love your music so much. Can I please get a picture?"
"Of course, baby," Candace moved to the edge of the section, posing as the woman's friend took a photo with a flash that momentarily blinded Keshawn.
It had been like this all night. Every few minutes, someone new would approach—sometimes respectfully, sometimes drunk and demanding—and Candace would pose, chat briefly, then return to her spot beside him.
One of Candace's friends—Keshawn thought her name might be Tiana—leaned across the table. "You’re pretty tall," she shouted over the music. "It looked like you were doing your thing tonight, playing basketball and shit."
"Thanks." Keshawn nodded, unsure what to make of her comment. He had indeed been playing basketball tonight, although not very well or effective."
"She don’t normally do basketball players," Tiana continued, gesturing toward Candace who was now taking a selfie with two men in expensive suits. "You must be special or some shit."
Keshawn let out an awkward chuckle, once again unsure what to do with the information that was being presented to him.
A woman with these distractingly long eyelashes, who'd been introduced to him earlier as Candace's stylist, slid a shot glass toward him. "It’s shot-a-clock, baby boy," she said with a wink.
Keshawn shook his head. "I'm good."
"Come on, you hanging with us tonight!" She pushed it closer.
"He said he's good." Candace had returned, her tone light but firm. She settled back beside Keshawn, her thigh pressing against his. "He don’t be drinking like that, Jasmine."
Jasmine rolled her eyes but withdrew the shot, downing it herself.
"Thanks for saving me," Keshawn murmured close to Candace's ear.
"Don’t you worry," Candace smirked, "I’m saving you for myself later is all."
Neighborhood.
Highlight Game: November 16th, 2025 - American Airlines Center, Dallas, Texas
(4-9) Portland Trail Blazers at Dallas Mavericks (10-4)
POR | 25 | 23 | 23 | 24 | 95
DAL | 35 | 28 | 24 | 17 | 104
Starting Lineups
Jrue Holiday - G - Kyrie Irving
Shaedon Sharpe - G - Klay Thompson
Deni Avdija - F - Cooper Flagg
Toumani Camara - F - Anthony Davis
Donovan Clingan - C - Dereck Lively II
G Jrue Holiday: 12 pts, 2 reb, 2 ast, 3 stl, 4-13 FG, 2-8 3PT G Shaedon Sharpe: 13 pts, 4 reb, 3 ast, 5-12 FG, 1-5 3PT F Deni Avdija: 25 pts, 8 reb, 3 ast, 10-19 FG, 1-6 3PT, 4-4 FT F Toumani Camara: 9 pts, 6 reb, 4-8 FG, 0-2 3PT C Donovan Clingan: 2 pts, 9 reb, 3 ast, 4 blk, 1-5 FG F Keshawn Chase: 28 pts, 8 reb, 4 ast, 12-17 FG, 1-1 3PT, 3-3 FT
F Anthony Davis: 32 pts, 10 reb, 3 stl, blk, 12-17 FG, 2-5 3PT G Kyrie Irving: 12 pts, 3 reb, 7 ast, 5 TO, 4-17 FG, 1-9 3PT, 3-3 FT F Cooper Flagg: 5 pts, 6 reb, 3 ast, 2 stl, 2-6 FG, 1-4 3PT---
(2-7)
@ 
(4-6)POR | 22 | 27 | 32 | 13 | 94
MIA | 22 | 33 | 36 | 28 | 119
POR F Keshawn Chase: 4 pts, 2 reb, 3 ast, 1-6 FG, 2-2 FT
MIA G Tyler Herro: 23 pts, 4 ast, 10-21 FG, 3-10 3PT
---
(3-7)
@ 
(7-3)POR | 25 | 34 | 28 | 36 | 123
ORL | 23 | 22 | 18 | 32 | 95
POR F Keshawn Chase: 14 pts, 10 reb, 4 ast, 6-14 FG, 2-3 3PT
ORL G Desmond Bane: 27 pts, 6 reb, 12-29 FG, 1-11 3PT
---
(4-7)
@ 
(5-6)POR | 30 | 27 | 25 | 32 | 114
NO | 27 | 30 | 30 | 24 | 111
POR F Keshawn Chase: 13 pts, 8 reb, 4 ast, 5-17 FG, 1-5 3PT, 2-2 FT
NO F Zion Williamson: 20 pts, 4 reb, 4 ast, 2 blk, 8-16 FG, 3-3 FT
---
(4-8)
@ 
(7-4)POR | 34 | 16 | 32 | 23 | 105
HOU | 40 | 28 | 28 | 20 | 116
POR F Keshawn Chase: 11 pts, 2 reb, 5 ast, 3 stl, 2 blk, 2-10 FG, 0-3 3PT, 7-8 FT
HOU F Jabari Smith Jr: 21 pts, 5 reb, 2 stl, 9-14 FG, 2-5 3PT
Upcoming Schedule vs. Phoenix Suns (4-9), vs. Chicago Bulls (6-5)
Season Stats 13.8 PPG, 6.2 RPG, 3.6 APG, 0.5 SPG, 0.3 BPG, 2.3 TOPG, 50 FG%, 33 3PT%, 75 FT%
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Captain Canada
- Posts: 4731
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Neighborhood.
I know its the difference between you playing the CPU, but boy going from 28 points to 5 night to night is hilarious to me 
You see the things Nadia does? Got my nigga Keshawn on CNN.
You see the things Nadia does? Got my nigga Keshawn on CNN.
Neighborhood.
But we supposed to believe this man don't want her ass when he risking his entire brand 10 games into his rookie season to appease her. Make it make sense.Captain Canada wrote: ↑10 Sep 2025, 16:23You see the things Nadia does? Got my nigga Keshawn on CNN.
Vic gotta go. Also, Tommy being THIS mad about a passaround that chose to be thuggin outside with no cable is crazy. Let it go, brudda.
Keyshawn locked up the great white hope?!
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 4731
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Neighborhood.
Just reminds me: Jessica talking a little too crazy to Vic who - although he is a certified bad person - is not around because he funding literally everything she has 
Neighborhood.
You don't do things for your friends? smhCaesar wrote: ↑10 Sep 2025, 19:20But we supposed to believe this man don't want her ass when he risking his entire brand 10 games into his rookie season to appease her. Make it make sense.Captain Canada wrote: ↑10 Sep 2025, 16:23You see the things Nadia does? Got my nigga Keshawn on CNN.
Vic taking care of his responsibilities as our brother CC correctly points out. More than a certain Latino on the other section can say.Captain Canada wrote: ↑12 Sep 2025, 12:22Just reminds me: Jessica talking a little too crazy to Vic who - although he is a certified bad person - is not around because he funding literally everything she has
The scoring might be inconsistent based on the matchup/fastbreak opportunities but the one thing Keshawn gonna do is lock up and play defense. I can't really find a good metric to show this (like I do with Book) since he guards different people throughout the game
Neighborhood.
Elijah stared at the spreadsheet on his laptop, the numbers blurring before his eyes. He was never fond of numbers, Lorraine taking care of the more mundane operations in the store’s previous existence.
"We’re not pushing back the opening," he said.
Mateo nodded from across the desk with the usual smug smile on his face. Or at least Elijah interpreted it as such.
"We are not the ones pushing back the opening," Mateo said, his voice carrying an authorities tone that did not match his age nor his experience. "The numbers are. New Year's Eve shopping will drive significant foot traffic, and it gives us adequate time to address the remaining construction issues."
Elijah closed his laptop with more force than necessary. The snap echoed through the makeshift office they'd set up in what used to be the store's stock room.
"We've been promoting a Thanksgiving opening for months."
"Pivoting is what great business do," he countered, "If we try to rush the electric work and we hit another snag, forget New Years, this store might not be open by Q2 of next year. An extra month could save us four more months of tracking down new vendors with new delivery dates and just a whole lot more hassle. Whatever hit the brand takes from us not opening on time, we’ll take an even bigger hit if we open and then are force to close a week later because of some issue that we overlooked."
The brand. As if Chase Family Goods was some corporation and not the store his grandfather had built, brick by brick.
"This isn’t about some catchy slogan we built around Thanksgiving," Elijah said, his voice low. "It's about keeping our word to this community. They expect us to be open that day and we’re going to be."
"Mr. Chase, I understand your emotional attachment to the timeline, but Gordon brought me on specifically to ensure the financial viability of this venture. My analysis indicates—"
"Your analysis?" Elijah cut him off. "What do you know about running a business in this neighborhood? They even mailed you your diploma yet?"
A flash of annoyance crossed Mateo's face, quickly replaced by that practiced professional smile. "I know what I’m doing, sir. I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t."
"I’m sure being Gordon’s nephew had nothing to do with it," Elijah said, not bothering to hide his sarcasm.
Mateo's smile tightened. "My uncle has more than one nephew. Are they all here?"
Elijah leaned back in his chair, studying the young man across from him. In some ways, he saw some of himself in the twenty-something year old that was sitting in front of him. He took was handed down a business due to family ties but he had earned it, picking up shifts since he could count and working his way to weekend manager than store manager as a high school teenager while balancing school and football before eventually taking over the store once he came back home from college.
"The Thanksgiving opening stands," Elijah said firmly. "We've already ordered the inventory with that date in mind."
"Which can be rescheduled," Mateo countered. "Most of your suppliers would probably welcome the extension."
"And the workers I've already hired for the holiday rush? What am I supposed to tell them? 'Sorry, no paycheck until January'?"
Mateo tapped his tablet screen. "We can offer retention bonuses to key personnel to secure their commitment through the delay."
"With whose money?" Elijah asked, though he already knew the answer.
"Gordon has authorized additional capital if needed to ensure a successful launch."
"We don't need more of Gordon's money," Elijah said, the words coming out harsher than he intended.
Mateo raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that? Because according to these projections—"
"I don't give a damn about your projections," Elijah shot back, unable to contain his frustration any longer.
Mateo nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'll see what we can do to meet this aggressive deadline."
As the door closed behind Mateo, Elijah sank back into his chair, the silence of the empty store pressing in around him. He pulled out his phone, thumb hovering over Lorraine's name. She'd tell him to be practical, to listen to the experts. To swallow his pride.
But pride was all he had left.
…
Angela scrolled through Jessica's Instagram, her thumb moving mechanically as each new image appeared. Jessica cradling the baby against a sunset backdrop. Jessica in a flowing white dress, the baby in a matching outfit.
"Damn," Angela muttered to herself, zooming in on the baby's face. Those were definitely Vic's eyes staring back at her. Same shape, same intensity.
"What you looking at?"
Angela jumped, nearly dropping her phone. Ronnie stood over her, his usual easy smile spread across his face, backpack slung casually over one shoulder.
"Jesus, Ronnie. Don't sneak up on people like that." She quickly locked her screen and shoved the phone into her pocket.
"Not my fault you was in LaLa land," he pulled out the chair across from her and sat down without waiting for an invitation. "What you got going on today?"
Angela glanced at her watch and felt her stomach drop.
"Shit."
It was 2:53. Her virtual meeting with the Westwood Solutions team started at 3:00, and she still needed to find a quiet room to set up as time had gotten away from her, scrolling through Jessica’s Instagram.
"I've been busy," she said, gathering her notebooks and shoving them into her bag. "Got a lot going on."
"Too busy to tap in with your boy? I feel like I’ve barely seen you since you came back." Ronnie leaned forward, elbows on the table.
Angela stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Look, I can't do this right now. I've got a meeting in like five minutes."
"With who? The Instagram stalking committee?" Ronnie's eyes sparkled with amusement.
"Fuck off, Ronnie. I got shit to do today." The words came out sharper than she'd intended, but she didn't have time to soften them. She needed to find an empty study room, now.
Ronnie's smile faltered for just a moment before he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Damn, my bad."
…
Stacks counted the money, his fingers moving automatically as his crew lounged against the brick wall behind him. Fifteen hundred from the last pickup. Not bad, business was beginning to pick up, a sign that the after-effects of the war was beginning to fade.
"Yo, you sliding to Tasha’s shit after this?" Benji asked, flicking his blunt onto the pavement.
Stacks opened his mouth to answer when a figure across the street caught his eye. The way he walked—shoulders squared, head tilted slightly to the right—made Stacks's breath catch in his throat.
No. It couldn't be.
But that walk. That fucking walk.
"Hold up," Stacks muttered, pocketing the cash and starting across the street without another word.
"Yo, Stacks! Where you going?" Peanut called after him.
Stacks didn't answer. His heart hammered against his ribs as he quickened his pace, weaving between cars. The man turned a corner, disappearing from view. Stacks picked up the pace.
When he rounded the corner, the man was halfway down the block.
"The fuck?" Stacks whispered to himself, his palm instinctively finding the handle of his piece tucked into his waistband.
The man must have sensed someone following him. He glanced over his shoulder, then walked faster. Stacks matched his pace.
"Hey!" Stacks called out, his voice sounding strange in his own ears. "Yo, hold up!"
The man broke into a run. Stacks pursued, his boots pounding the pavement.
"I said stop, nigga!" Stacks reached out, grabbing the man's shoulder and spinning him around.
The man's eyes widened with fear, his hands shooting up in surrender. "What do you want, man? I don't want no trouble!"
Stacks froze. Up close, the resemblance faded. This man was younger, his face rounder. No scar above his eyebrow like Dro had. The eyes were all wrong—Dro's had been cold, calculating. This man's were just scared.
"My fault," Stacks swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. "I thought you was somebody else."
The man backed away slowly, hands still raised. "I ain’t from nowhere, bro."
Stacks nodded, taking a step back. The man didn't wait for further permission. He turned and hurried away, throwing nervous glances over his shoulder until he disappeared around another corner.
Stacks stood there, his heart still racing. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool fall air. He pressed his palms against his eyes, trying to steady himself. It wasn't the first time. Last week it had been a customer at the liquor store. Before that, a driver in a passing car. Always just a glimpse. Just enough to make his heart stop before reality crashed back in.
…
"That boy is going to be the death of me," Elijah said, loosening his tie.
Lorraine didn't turn around. "Mateo again? What is it this time?"
"Wants to push the opening back to New Year's Eve." Elijah grabbed a beer from the fridge, the cold glass a small comfort against his palm. "Says we need more time for construction."
"Maybe he has a point." Lorraine tasted the jambalaya, added a pinch of something, then covered the pot. "You keep saying you guys are running into delays."
Elijah took a long pull from his beer. "Not you too."
She finally turned to face him, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "I'm just saying, Elijah. You've been complaining about this boy for weeks now, but you're the one who put yourself in this position."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you had options," Lorraine leaned against the counter, fixing him with that look she'd perfected over thirty years of marriage. "Keshawn offered to fund the reopening, no strings attached. But your pride wouldn't let you."
"It wasn't about pride," Elijah protested, though the lie tasted bitter on his tongue.
"So instead, you've got Gordon breathing down your neck and his little whipping boy making decisions about the store," Lorraine shook her head. "And now you're in here complaining every night like you didn't choose this."
Elijah sank into a kitchen chair, suddenly exhausted. "What do you want me to do, Lorraine? Tell everyone that we’re pushing back, again?"
"I want you to be practical," she sat across from him, her voice softening. "You're trying to do everything yourself, and it's not working."
"I'm not alone. I've got you. We missed you today at the site."
"And who else?" She reached for his hand across the table. "You need more help, Elijah. Especially on the construction side, that’s where all of our problems are."
Elijah sighed. "I already told you I’m not hiring Gordon’s crew just to dig us a deeper hole with that man."
"I'm not talking about Gordon's crew. I'm talking about Quincy."
The suggestion hit him like a bucket of ice water. "Quincy? Your brother, Quincy?"
"He’s been sober for a year," Lorraine said.
"A whole year?" Elijah couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice. "Give the man a medal."
"He has construction experience, Elijah. You know that."
Elijah did know. Prior to the housing market crash and then his subsequent abuse of substances that caused him to lose his family, Quincy had a decent development business that had a hand in many of the new office spaces that were popping up around Crenshaw in the early 2000s.
"He could oversee the construction," Lorraine continued. "Free you up to focus on the vendors, the inventory—the parts of the business you actually enjoy."
"I don't know, baby," Elijah rubbed his temple, where a headache was forming. "I’m already on the ropes here, last thing I need is another wildcard and something I got to worry about."
"He was good enough to help you with the renovations when we expanded," she said simply. "Gave you a discount too when you really needed it. I don’t care how many drugs he done took, he didn’t forget how to build a fucking building."
Neighborhood.
Risk my brand and potentially millions of dollars? For friends? No sir.
1) Afro-Latino.
2) Caine doesn't have a sugar daddy cousin to enable him to "take care of his responsibilities" like Vic.
Quincy about to be up in them people business stealing copper. once a crackhead, always a crackhead.