Twenty years ago, when Choice was not yet known as Choice, he was merely a young lad meandering through the streets. Like many other impoverished children wandering the streets, his father was a drunkard who, in his state of intoxication, would violently assault his mother.
His devoted mother, time and time again, upon witnessing her inebriated husband return home, would slip him some money and urge him to go play in the streets, not to return too soon. And so, he would venture out of the house, armed with his meager pocket money, seeking some form of amusement.
Purchasing snacks, observing basketball matches, or indulging in video games no longer sufficed to satisfy him. Deep down, he knew that at that very moment, his mother was enduring great suffering within the confines of their home.
