I've done some shit, and seen some shit i'm not proud of as well. It's not really like I did anyone really that wrong, besides rob a few people that I wasn't cool with and had just met. But the one thing that haunts me the most is this: One time in the summer of 2014, me and a buddy that I copped with all the time decided to go to the city to cop a bun or two. So we hop in my car, and take the 45 minute drive up to DC. I parked on the side of the alley, where I always did, and we both hopped out the car to go to my dope spot. My dboy was always really paranoid, and had me and whoever I was with chill at his spot for a minute after we cop. This is a very well known drug spot mind you, this apartment complex housed many drug dealers. You could pretty much get whatever drug you wanted at this spot. So me and my buddy are chilling at my dude's house, taking a few shots and just geeking out. After about 15-20 minutes we decided to leave. My boy daps us up as we're walking out the door and says "be careful mane, its getting dangerous out here." and those words will always be in my head. As were walking down the alley back to my car, some dude hops out on us with a nine in his hand, pointing it at my me and my friend. He says "I know you got money or drugs on you, hand that shit over and we won't have problems." Me and my homie are both stubborn as fuck, so we tell him to fuck off and if he's gonna shoot us he better do it. My boy decides to be a tough guy and push this dude with a gun pointed at him. After he pushed him to the ground, we take off running. This dude empty's his clip at my and my friend. I was running so fast and had so much adrenaline and dope coursing through my veins, when I got to my car I saw that my boy wasn't there. He was laying face down in the alley. I decide I need to take off or i'm gonna end up dead or arrested. It didn't really hit me as to what I had just done until the drive home. I was hoping and praying that my boy was still alive. We weren't the best of friends or anything, and we met through the dope game, but he was still a friend none the less. A couple days go by and I hadn't heard from him. I figured he was in the hospital or something. I had been texting his phone but didn't get a response. Then as I'm browsing Facebook, I see that there was a bunch of RIP posts on his page. I threw up after I saw that. A wave of guilt and sadness rushed through me like a shot of heroin. I broke down. I wish I would've went back to help him, and make sure he was ok. But I didn't. And that still haunts me to this day.