I remember a coworker at Riley Children's Hospital, when I used to work there third shift when I was going to the university, told me, when we were at Faces Night Club near 21st and Talbott Street, one hoppin Saturday night:
"Nigga she loves it! Tellin her what to do and shit! What do you want me to do? 'Shit hop on this dick bitch!' And she does! Between her cummin and me cummin shit, all I can tell ya Black ass, the shit works son! And afta this I'm goin ta go home and wax that ass again!"
And I remember, I responded, "I hear ya." Why did I respond like that? Well, I'm musing over it now that everything has been past and I am witnessing a name holding a cell phone hearing it ring, putting pieces together, "Hello?"
"Nigga! How you doin? Just callin a nigga. You said, 'Holla.' So, I'm hollerin," she said.
I'm smiling big time because I didn't think this fine sista, of my boy's ex-fiance, in a thousand years would be calling me. Let alone soundin regular and shit.
"Hell...O!?" she said.
"Oh! Whaddup lady?" I said.
"You! Boo! And whatchou got ta do today." She stated.
"I would make a good guess, seeing you," I said.
"Very good answa fine lookin! I'll pick you up at Eight," she said.
And before I could say, 'Okay," she had already disconnected...
(Peace! More to come...)
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