Donavan stared at the wall, refusing to look

Donavan stared at the wall, refusing to look at his hands. Instruments of life and death, covered in blood and tissue. He turned and struggled to process the scene before him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the webcam and realized he had nowhere to hide anymore. He dropped to his knees and

and began to blubber incessantly as the NBC special report camera crew surrounded him. "Do you know who I am?" asked the reporter. He looked at the girl again, trying to recall

the face of Connie Chung, but all he drew was a blank. "I'm Connie Chung, Maury Povich?" He slapped her for being stupid. Then he threw his knish at her chest and said, "Beat it."

She left him later to join the circus - not as a performer, but as a carny. That was the life she's always dreamed of, including the drug addiction and loss of front teeth and

being in on the game. She'd watched them operate and admired how scornfully they preyed on the customers. After a few years as greenie she was 'in the game' and worked a sugarshack

deep in the hood. Her game grew thicker, she drank brown liquor, dissed gold diggers. She'd learned to get them started early on the soft stuff and then give them a free taste of

Ma Reenie's home-made apple pie! Delicious! Folks just came a runnin'. It was just a regular ol' ho-down at the projects tonite. Gangstas went for the Country Rap square dance.

Everything was going swimmingly until Shaniqua saw Billie Jo looking at her man, Lepoleon. The ghetto erupted. Cowboy hats and do-rags, wigs and weaves went flying. Horses were