My Hollywood Life Is Not That Easy!

The underground music scene in early '90s LA was brutal. No label deals, no radio play, just sound in half-legal venues and on street corners.

Musicians had to make their own spaces, warehouses, back-alley clubs, basements thick with cigarette smoke.

Punk, rap, jazz were all mixed together, not because they wanted to, but because no one else would give them a stage.

Some nights, the crowd was packed; other times, it was just some drunk guy bobbing his head.

But every performance mattered.

Word spread fast. Kill it at an open mic, and you might land a gig. Get a secondhand four-track, record a bootleg tape, and pass it around like currency.

The Good Life Café was where underground rappers tested their skills. Punk bands got their shows shut down by the cops.

Over on Venice Beach, some kid with a busted-up guitar played songs that would never be recorded, but people stopped to listen anyway.

Some never made it past the streets. Instruments cost money. Bus fare wasn't cheap.

Subway stations, liquor stores, Hollywood Boulevard, wherever there were people, there was someone playing for a shot.

Some did it for the dream. Others just needed to eat. Most never made it. The ones who did? They never looked back.

Because music has the power to make you forget the past, live in the present, and dream of a tomorrow where you finally make it.

Just like the sun over South Central L.A., forgetting the heat and intensity of the morning, it now sank, half-swallowed by the skyline, its brilliance dimmed, a mere shadow of its daytime majesty.

But unlike the sun, which follows its routine of setting only to rise again, a platinum-haired boy was quietly walking toward his past.

Vincent moved through the streets of South Central, his blue eyes heavy with the weight of the day, but his tired feet still dragged him forward, closer to another flickering light of hope.

A few guys stood near the curb, broad-shouldered, staring.

Vincent felt their eyes on him, like they weren't used to seeing someone like him in their neighborhood.

He didn't care.

As long as they kept looking instead of doing anything, he was fine.

South Central had a reputation. Drugs, carjackings, robberies. People getting shot over nothing. And the LAPD? They weren't making things better. Outsiders weren't welcome.

But Vincent had business here.

"Just one more block without trouble."

He didn't break his stride, didn't acknowledge the stares, just kept walking until he turned into an alley.

The smell hit first. Urine, cheap beer, and something stale in the air.

A few guys were slumped against a wall. One of them was kissing a crumpled Tom Cruise poster. Another was pissing on the side of a dumpster.

The place he was looking for was ahead, a shop with no sign, just a white plate nailed over the door.

CLOSED.

Except the door wasn't locked.

And behind it, music blasted loud enough to shake the walls.

This was the place.

Vincent stood outside the half-closed shutter, staring at the chipped paint and rusted edges.

From inside, a man's voice struggled through an off-key rendition of MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This."

"Jesus Christ."

Vincent exhaled, rubbing his temple before pushing the door open.

The second he stepped inside, a voice boomed.

"Yo, who the fuck has the balls to walk in uninvited?!"

Samuel Jackson stood behind the counter, eyes sharp, irritation clear on his face. More than anger, it was frustration, this was South Central, and when he heard the shutter crack, his body almost lost its soul.

Samuel was dressed in baggy overalls, a bright windbreaker, and a sideways cap, nostalgic even by '90s standards.

Vincent barely had time to open his mouth before Samuel's face twisted in disbelief.

"...Nah. No fucking way."

His fingers loosened, and the half-smoked joint in his hand fell to the floor.

Then his expression snapped from shock to pure rage.

"You bastard! How dare you show your face here, you fucking white trash?!"

He vaulted over the counter, fist cocked back, ready to cave Vincent's face in.

Vincent didn't move.

But just as the fist was about to touch him...

"You're paying for my hospital bill if you hit me. I don't have money."

Samuel froze mid-swing.

"...What?"

"I said, if you punch me, you better cover my medical expenses."

A pause. Then a scoff. Then a deep, bitter laugh.

"Tch. I fucking knew it. You only remember us when you've got nothing left."

He backed up, shaking his head, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Why the hell are you here, Vincent?"

Vincent met his glare without flinching.

"I need your help."

"I got no time. Now get lost."

"Samuel, please, for the sake of the old days, for the sake of our group."

Samuel's expression darkened.

"Laughing Tigers? You mean the group you destroyed?"

A long silence hung between them.

"..."

"..."

Memories flickered behind Samuel's eyes, the nights spent hustling for a stage, the energy of the crowd, the music that kept them alive...

Five orphans, abandoned by a world too cruel to care, carried with them a fragile thread of hope...dreams.

A dream to escape the endless cycle, to find a place where loneliness didn't press so heavily on their shoulders, to build a family.

A dream to one day live without fear, without hunger, without the constant ache of never having enough.

But kids without fathers, without a hand to steady them, without a home to return to, didn't have many choices.

Happiness was a quiet lie, whispered in stories meant for someone else.

A good life? A dream too distant to touch.

Such was their reality. No hope. Fading dreams.

Until they found each other.

And suddenly, the world didn't seem so empty. Didn't seem so cruel.

So what if they had no family?

They could make one. They could laugh, they could shine, they could dream.

And together, everything felt just a little lighter, a little easier.

For the first time, these kids, who had nothing to cherish, had something worth holding on to.

For the first time, the ones who had known only struggle wanted to protect what they had, to earn well, and to laugh with the people who made it all worthwhile.

And so, they became the Laughing Tigers.

They swore they'd never abandon each other.

They swore nothing would break them.

And yet…

Samuel clenched his jaw.

"You have some fucking nerve, Vincent."

---

( End Of The Chapter)

A/N – Wanted to write more in this chapter, but the next one is long, so I decided to stop here.