The Bee Hive: The Honey the Money the Sting

I was a poor black boy of twelve years old living amongst a thriving northeastern city while trying to co-exist within a few short blocks away from a predominantly black underworlds primal nesting grounds. I made it my daily routine habit to spy on, imagine and visit this bustling scene day or night, whenever it was possible. As fate would have it, an oddly and seemingly majestic slice of real estate was carved out between the old railroad tracks and the cities original industrial zone. Thi...