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My cell rings, disruptin’ my private moment. I reach for it off the the nightstand and glance at the screen. It’s my nigga, Short Stacks…damn, I mean Glenn. We’re not as tight as I am wit’ Red, Mike, and Gee, but we still cool. We actually went to the same high school, played varsity basketball together and ended up at the same college. Of course he graduated, and you already know what it was wit’ me. If you ran into ’im on the streets at night, you’d think he was just another saggy-pants-wearin’, tree-blazin’ hood nigga, but dude actually got his shit together. By day, he’s a proper-talkin’, suit-’n-tie-type nigga down on Wall Street makin’ moves. But the minute he comes ’round his boys, he flips—like many of us—right back into hood mode, blazin’, drinkin’ and talkin’ mad shit.
“Yo, my nig, sound like ya ass’s already blitzed.”
“Nah, not really; just a little sumthin’. Me and Gee had a few shots of Cuervo.”
I laugh. “Aaaah, shit. And I bet that tequila got ya ass feelin’ right.”
“No, doubt, son. You already know.”
“Yeah, I know, nigga. I know ya ugly, black ass is a damn lush.”
“Nigga, fuck outta here. Ya ass’s blacker than me.”
We both laugh. “Yeah, and I gotta longer dick. But what that got to do wit’ ya ass bein’ a damn drunk?”
“Shit. But I pull more bitches than you.”
“Yeah, okay. But, ya ass’s short strokin’ ’em, so it don’t matter how many hoes you mackin’. At the end of the night, you just an appetizer to ’em, muhfucka.”
“Fuck you, nigga,” he says, laughin’, “appetize on these nuts.”
“Yeah, aiiight, muhfucka. That’s the same shit I told ya moms after I finished nuttin’ in her mouth.”
He continues laughin’. “Awww, damn. Why you gotta go there? That’s some real foul shit, nigga.”
“Well, watch ya mouth then, muhfucka. Don’t hate on me ’cause ya stroke game is whack.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever, nigga,” he snaps, soundin’ offended. I laugh at his ass. ’Cause he knows I’m keepin’ shit real. No homo. But, after all the trains ’n shit we done pulled on bitches growin’ up, and the group epps we done swung wit’ chicks, he knows I know what it is. Not to put him on blast or nuthin’, but there’s a reason they call ’im Short Stacks. ’Cause the nigga’s shit is thick as hell, but most bitches be snappin’ on his ass for not knowin’ how to keep his dick in ’em. My thing is, if ya dick is constantly slippin’ outta a bitch’s hole, then maybe you need to change up ya stroke, feel me? But this nigga here ain’t get the memo. Or he just too stuck on retarded to understand that a short-dick muhfucka can’t long stroke no pussy.
“So, what’s good, muhfucka?” he asks, bringin’ me back to the conversation. “You tryna roll out wit’ us or what?”
“Where ya’ll niggas goin’?”
“The Rhum Lounge.”
The Rhum Lounge is located on the lower level of this slick lil’ Jamaican restaurant called Negril in the Village. The food is bangin’ and the in-house DJ spins reggae, calypso, soca, hip-hop and R & B joints while you sit back, chill, and get ya eat and drink on. I think for a minute. Try to decide if I really wanna fuck wit’ ’em tonight like that. I mean, these my niggas ’n shit, but sometimes they go overboard wit’ the drinkin’ and start poppin’ a buncha shit, especially Gee’s dumb-ass.
“Listen, muhfucka, I ain’t beat for no drama tonight, word up. Ya’ll muhfuckas be on some extra shit sometimes. If you gonna be mixin’ ya drinks ’n shit, throwin’ up all over the place, let me know now.” He laughs. “Ain’t shit funny, nigga. The last time, you fucked ’round and threw up all in my muthafuckin’ whip. Had my shit all fucked up. And ya black ass still owe me for the detailin’.”
“Nigga, stop whinin’. I got you. Besides, I’m drivin’ my own shit tonight.”
“Yeah, whatever, muhfucka. Just have me my money.”
“Nigga, fuck that shit you talkin’. You hangin’ or not?”
“What time ya’ll muhfuckas tryna roll?” I ask, glancin’ at my watch: 7:25 p.m.
“’Bout nine.”
“Oh, aiight. That’ll work.”
“Bet. You just need to scoop Ron up.”
“Ron? I thought that nigga was on ya side of town.”
“Not tonight he’s not. He’s at his sister’s.”
I shake my head. Not to kick dudes back in. But when it comes to women, he’s ’bout as dumb and pussywhipped as they come. “I take it he done got his dumb-ass put out, again.” He laughs. Asks me what time I’ma swing through and scoop ’im up. “Which sister’s spot is he at?”
