There has been something that has always bothered me since the second the event concluded. I remember perfectly the sounds of that day and vividly remember the images of my friend being thrown into a tree and receiving blows from someone who was twice his size and age. I remember me standing theirthere alongside with another friend just watching, as if we were attending a grudge match. I did nothing but stand there and watch one of my closest friends take a beating. (Before I continue with the story feel it is necessary for me to inform you with my friend's background and the friendship between us that developed.)delete-the intro is powerful enough and stands on its own.
             My friend, Jeff, since the day he was borncomma (he) was on his own. His mother he knew little about except that she tried to sell him for drugs when he was a baby like he was a newly born animal, when his dad broke into the drug rage with a gun to save him,period (but) even his father was not around much after that. Jeff grew up in the "ghetto" of St. Ann with his grandma and hardly seen his fathersemi-colon as he was always working or doing something and rarely had time for his son. He quickly learned and ran the streets and started to be someone he truly was not to just relieve his pain inside. The major issues hit at around age 12 when he was sent to Juvenile School and arrested later the same year. When he was out of Juvenile School he moved with his father toin Kinloch Kenloch, one of the worst parts in St. Louiscomma and began to get involved with worseworst gangs. By the time 10th tenth grade came around he had dropped out of school and was involved with people that truly did not care about him andtoo many 'ands' began to get in the worse trouble of his life. I will not say what he did or where he is now to protect his identity, but (his not doing and)he was not doing well.
             Jeff and I became good friends through baseball. When ...