He lived with his single mother and older sister in the neighborhood until , where, at age 6, a fire destroyed his tenement. Faison, who struggled academically, dropped out of high school following the ninth-grade, and worked at several odd jobs around Harlem, including a two-year stint at a local dry cleaners. Career Edit After attending a screening of the film Scarface , Faison was influenced to enter the drug trade, and later that year, established a working relationship with a local Dominican supplier, who would frequently go to the dry cleaners. Faison would then become introduced to cocaine , and would become one of the first distributors of the drug within New York in He would eventually expand operations until , and became one of the most notable distributors during the War on Drugs era in the United States.
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Hurry up, motherfucka Shaking with fear and numb from the pain, I tried to respond: "Look, man The blood is blinding me. Just let everybody go I felt no pain; I was numb. This was my judgment day -- payment for all my sins.
God lost patience with me. So there I was. My head was spinning, my heart was pounding, and my eyes were stinging from the sticky blood pouring into them. Stumbling around in pain, I managed to clear some blood from my eyes using my shirt. They were handcuffed and lying facedown, pleading for their lives. By nightfall, my aunt, her friend, and my best friend were pronounced dead. Two more people survived, but they sustained seriouswounds. As for me, I took two shots to my head at point-blank range, and seven more: one to my neck, another in my shoulder, and the rest in my leg.
I was shot nine times. I saw a bright light and my body felt like it was rising toward the light. On that day, the old me was killed so a new me could be reborn.
People who lived in New York City, especially Harlem, during the eighties and nineties regard me as a street legend. I made millions before I was old enough to vote, which allowed me to live a life most people only dream of living. Customized cars, fine women, property, and street respect were my way of life.
I spent money at will and made it possible for many people in Harlem to eat and pay bills. Along with my associates, Rich Porter and "Alpo," I had no way of knowing that years down the road, our lifestyles would influence music, clothing, and even Hollywood. How did I get so much money and influence at such a young age? I was a hustler Throughout the eighties and nineties, I probably sold enough cocaine to make it snow in New York City. But anything built on negativity will eventually bring destruction to those who profit from it.
In the end, we all paid a huge price for the fame and wealth we got by selling drugs. The drug game forced me to experience things that changed my life forever.
I was born in a Bronx hospital on November 10, I lived the first six years of my life between th and th Streets and Clay Avenue. We lived in a poor neighborhood, and like many other families on the block, we received public assistance, or welfare. Many people like to say, "Even though we were poor, I never knew we were poor.
My parents did the best they could, given our situation. Poverty, like wealth, is something that is both hard to hide and hard to deny. Everything from where we lived to how we lived, reminded us we were poor.
Out of my sisters, Robin was my favorite because she knew how to mind her business and she knew plenty of street cats who made big money growing up.
She returned months later My mother greeted her with open arms. I guess she was just happy to have her firstborn back home. My little sister Ingrid was my little baby girl. I was proud of her because she graduated from A. Phillip Randolph High School, located on the City College campus, and eventually did a year of college. I was about twenty-one years old at the time, and I kept my promise.
My brother Kevin graduated from John F. He only stayed for a couple of months before he received a dishonorable discharge. I believe it had something to do with him smoking weed. Wayne was the baby of the family, and like most babies, he was spoiled. He never wanted for anything.
When I got into the game and had major money, I bought Wayne and my nephew hot dirt bikes one Christmas. They became the envy of the block, since most kids barely had regular bikes at the time.
My sister Pie was something else. At Stitt Junior High, she won the beauty pageant, which made her and me very popular in the school. Julie was always very quiet and reserved. She stayed to herself or under my mother.
Things were so tight back then that nine of us lived in a one-bedroom apartment. My parents occupied the bedroom, and we slept in the living room on a pullout couch or the floor. To be fair, we took turns sleeping on the couch. Everyone hated the floor because you usually woke up with a permanent crick in your neck and a sore back. On the nights I had the floor, I used pillows to cushion myself. Poverty robs you of options. Poverty also influences your decisions.
We appreciated school not just for the lessons, or the friendships we made, but because it provided us with two hot meals daily.
We all went to school early to get breakfast, and never missed lunch. Dinner was the only meal we had at home during the week, and usually this consisted of a bologna or ham sandwich and some juice or milk. My mother, Margaret Rogers, was a native New Yorker. She met my father when she was twenty years old; he was forty.
I figure she wanted to get with an older man who could provide her with a good quality of life. As a result, she constantly reminded my father of how broke we were. My mother was always a great cook. I liked everything she cooked with the exception of chitlins -- the entire house smelled like shit whenever she prepared them.
She believed everyone had the right to eat and eat well. In fact, people would often knock on our door, and my mother would make them plates with no hesitation. My father, Azie Faison, Sr. He was dark-skinned with strong, proud facial features. He had jet-black hair like a Native American and honest, penetrating eyes that looked right through you. My mother taught me the importance of making money. My father, on the other hand, taught me how to be a man. But he worked hard to support our household.
I remember times my mother would have some girlfriends over at the house, laughing and gossiping. My father would sit quietly in his chair watching television. Once they left, my father would mutter, "Thank God.
Now I can relax and have my space. I never remember anyone saying a bad word about him. He told me he "wanted nothing to do with my blood money. I felt like I was the man because I brought in more money in a week than my father did in a year. Cocaine sales made me the main breadwinner in the house. I paid the rent, bought food and items for the apartment, and gave my mother rolls of money whenever she needed it.
I figured that since I took care of the home, nobody could tell me shit. And it seemed like everybody in the house respected my authority -- everybody except my father. As far as he was concerned, he was the man of the house, and still had the authority to regulate his children.
He proved that one day when he came into my room and caught me bagging up some coke. I had shit everywhere: a huge mound of coke, baggies, a scale, and hundreds of little vials. What are you doing in my house? In my ignorance and arrogance I shut him down and shrugged him off.
That was the turning point in our relationship. He shook his head in disappointment and left. True to his word, he stopped speaking to me from that day until I got shot years later. People out for your money will do and say shit to keep your money rolling in. Those who really love you will try to point you in the right direction and rock the boat no matter how you react.
Game Over: The Rise and Transformation of a Harlem Hustler
Himself archive footage Patricia Porter Faison speaks on the lost of friends and loved ones and he tries to steer any reader away from that lifestyle. Must redeem within 90 days. It makes me wish that the movie was produced and directed as he intended. We were unable to find this edition in any bookshop we are able to search.
game over by azie faison
Hurry up, motherfucka Shaking with fear and numb from the pain, I tried to respond: "Look, man The blood is blinding me. Just let everybody go I felt no pain; I was numb. This was my judgment day -- payment for all my sins. God lost patience with me.