8 years old when life went downhill, one could help. What do you do when kids turn to crime, guns and drugs? You can't do anything. When we was young estates had mellow vibes, yardies swaggered around in there long fur coats and full of jewelry, ragga jungle and reggae blasted from the top of the tower blocs. Simpler times, where we left the police alone and the police leave us alone. Girls couldn't walk outside for the chance off being locked in one of the burnt down garages at the bottom off the blocs and raped until they didn't want to live life no more. Everyone knew everyone, you were safe in the estate, playing hide and seek in the pedways and watching the cats and shottas making deals on the many terraces. We played at raves with giant sound systems to outplay other areas, people didn't wear versace and dolci and gabbana. Happier times. Safer times.