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“Yeah. I told you I did. And they still haven’t called me back.”
“Well, until they do, the least you can do is have dinner cooked when I get home from work, and this house clean. I shouldn’t have to work all day, then come home to a bunch of dishes in the sink. And not one goddamn thing cooked. This shit is getting old. And I’m getting sick of it.”
“Yeah, aiight, man. Whatever.”
“Whatever, my ass, Levar!”
“Yo, fuck, man. I ain’t tryna beef wit’ yo. But you stay talkin’ shit. You know that, right?”
“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten fired from Walmart. But you did. So if you don’t want me talking shit, then you need to get up and find another damn job.”
“Yo, what the fuck is your problem today? Didn’t I just dick you down real good? So why is you poppin’ shit?”
“Nigga, a hard dick ain’t gonna keep these bills paid up in here. I don’t give a fuck if you gotta sell apples and oranges on the side of the road, or sweep up horse shit. Hell, go out and sling dick if that’s gonna keep these bills paid. All I care about is you working, period. It’s bad enough I’m paying all the bills. But I shouldn’t have to keep paying your child support, too.”
“Man, whatever. Relax. I got this.”
“Well, how ’bout you go relax them bills that keep piling up on the damn counter, and get. A. Motherfuckin’. Job.”
ONE
“Yo, you got that bread?” I say the minute I step inside this muhfucka’s crib ‘n’ the door shuts.
“Yes. A hundred, right?”
“Yeah. You wanted me to shit on you, right?”
“Yes.”
This nasty muhfucka.
“Then I’ma need to see that paper, first,” I say, eyeing him. He’s about my height, six two. Brown hair. Brown eyes. His ad said he was thirty-eight, but he looks older. He’s barefoot, wearin’ a navy blue bathrobe.
I peep a wedding band on his finger.
Damn, this muhfucka’s married. I wonder if he lets his wife shit on him. Nah, if so, he wouldn’t be payin’ muhfuckas to take a dump on him.
“Oh, sure. No worries,” he says, turning to walk off. “I have your money. Follow me.”
I follow him through his condo, scoping the place out as we make our way down a hallway. I can’t front. The muhfucka’s crib is right. He has all types of high-end shit up in here, and expensive-looking artwork and sculptures.
Yeah, this freak-ass muhfucka’s caked up.
Yo, hold up. Before you start judgin’ me, know this, I ain’t gay, bi, or some down-low muhfucka. I’m just in a tight spot at the moment. So I’m doin’ what I gotta do to keep a few dollars in my pocket. And keep my girl off my back. So this shit I’m doin’ is strictly business, point-blank, period.
And I don’t consider nothin’ I’m doin’ as cheatin’.
It’s me gettin’ this paper, that’s it.
Hell, I woulda never been browsin’ the sex ads late last night if I wasn’t feelin’ pressed for money ‘n’ curiosity hadn’t gotten the best of me. I heard there was a buncha horny muhfuckas on the Internet willing to be generous for all types of sex. So when I peeped this muhfucka’s ad lookin’ for someone to shit on him, it sounded—nasty as it is, like a quick way to make some fast cash.
So here I am.
About to drop my drawz ‘n’ shit on this freaky muhfucka.
Hell. I wouldn’t even be at this muhfucka’s crib about to take a shit on him if Nivia wasn’t always poppin’ shit about money. I’m not sayin’ it’s her fault that I’m here. I’m here by my own choice. All I’m sayin’ is, that shit’s annoyin’ as hell. Don’t no muhfucka wanna keep hearin’ that shit from his girl. I already feel low as fuck as it is that I can’t do for my family like I want, the way I used to. That shit fucks with me e’eryday. So I don’t need my girl beatin’ me in the head about it. That shit be makin’ me wanna smack her fuckin’ teeth out.
Don’t get it fucked up. I love my girl. She’s my heart. But, on some real shit, she’s spoiled as fuck. And I know I made her that way. Still, yo, she stay naggin’ the fuck outta me about this work shit. Like I don’t know I need to find a fuckin’ job. What the fuck she think I be doin’ all day?
