Page 35
CLARITY
Damien
That afternoon
“So, after the first experience, what do you think of her?”
We’re riding around the East Side, enjoying the sun while we can. Since Morgan has to be at work around six, we decided to have some time to ourselves to start the day. Food, conversation, and running the town like Bonnie and Clyde. I’ve just stopped at a red light on Farwell, first checking my blind spot before darting my eyes towards my sexy passenger princess. She’s rocking a white tank top, sunglasses, and shorts, skin completely covered in Sun. Even through my own pair of shades, all I can see is perfection.
Her question dances in my head for a second before an answer’s given.
“Shit, I thought she did well,” I say, leaning further back in my seat, “Shorty held her own enough.”
“Hmm. Better than Miami?”
A loud chuckle rips from my chest, “I wouldn’t say all that now. She’s cool though. It seemed like she got more into it as the night progressed.”
“Yeah, I’m with you when you’re right,” she places her feet in my lap, back pressed against the door, “Syren just better be ready. She claims she is, from the text she sent me earlier. But we’ll have to see. Because it’s only getting wilder from here.”
I flash the golds in my mouth, “On what though.”
Morgan giggles to herself, tapping away on her phone, “She told me back at the breakfast spot that she wanted me to herself. On some scissoring while you watch shit. You down for that tonight?”
I show off a smile wider than the state’s debt, “You ain’t even gotta ask, bae. You already know I am.”
She laughs until her cheeks flush with red, “Okay, bet. Just asking. Just asking.”
“It’ll have to be later in the night though.”
“Yeah, I figured after I’m off tonight, she can come through again.”
I pull up to the corner of Brady, right across the street from Up Down Arcade. It’s a smooth little retro spot dedicated more to adults. I call it the hood’s Chuck E. Cheese. Except the tokens are cheaper and the pizza is even better. We typically slide there every Monday night for food, drinks, and vibes. But that’s not what the mission is currently. To the far left of that, sits a food truck plastered in big ass pictures of hot dogs and brats. Every time I see it, I can’t help but to laugh, knowing exactly who owns the truck.
“Aight, smooth. Now let’s get this food.”
We get out of the car in unison, looking like two superstars walking down the Vegas strip. Morgan walks with confidence, holding my hand as she stays close to me. We’re not even an inch into our journey when some dumbass Caucasian in an ugly, ten-cent suit brushes past her. Almost knocking her over. It immediately sends me into protector mode. I stop right where I am, following close behind the guy. Morgan can be heard behind me, calling my name, trying to get me to calm down because she already knows what time it is.
Nah. Niggas in Milwaukee lack manners sometimes. I’m always willing to help someone learn them.
“Hey, bro,” I call out to the man, who’s too busy talking on the phone to hear me.
“Aye, mothafucka!” I say it again, abrasively. This time he turns around, looking rather perturbed by the fact that some Black man has the audacity to grab his attention.
“May I help you?” he asks smugly, barely looking me in the eyes. Which only incites me more.
“Sure can.”
I immediately grab him by the collar, causing him to drop his phone. He’s in complete shock, being dragged like a child back over to Morgan. She has her face buried in her hands, knowing already how bad this could get.
“What the hell are you doing?” he screams, practically pissing himself.
I don’t respond until we’re both standing in front of her again.
“So, check this out. You bumped into my wife without even thinking about saying excuse me. Or apologizing. But that’s okay,” my grip tightens around his collar, “Because you can do it now. So get to talking.”
He unwisely tries to protest.
“Do you know who my attorney is?”
