By Michael Obilade

It's Friday night, and things are moving slow.  Blue and I, driving up and down Newberry in the Land Rover, doing the usual.  Music blasting out the speakers, out the windows, even though it's June and it's so damn hot outside.  He's getting edgy.  I can tell.  Tapping the steering wheel, looking left and right as if we're about to get busted.  He always gets this way when we haven't sold anything big in a while.

      “Let's take a break for a while.”  I say it as he finds a parking space in the middle of the street, and we get out.  Almost immediately, he cools down.  I cool down.  We're in front of an old hangout, a low-down brick shack tucked between a dumpster and a fire-hose. 

      “What should we do?” Blue asks, but I know he's already thinking of something.  “Maybe we should go eat.”  He's still half-baked from the peppers we got yesterday.  Me, it wore out a few hours ago, and all I can do is look at everything shimmering, like we were out somewhere like Las Vegas, instead of fucking Boston.

      Down the street, we hear voices.  Blue wants us to check it out.  He thinks everyone's a customer just waiting for a sale.  I know better, but only because I've made too many mistakes.  Approached too many people who I mistook for people I know, people I deal with.  There's nothing funnier than coming up to an old lady, some Abuela with gray hair and a walking stick, and asking her if she'd like the usual - “quires más?” - and having her look at you as if you were setting up to rob her.  That's when she does one of two things:  either throws her handbag at you and starts begging for her life, or gives you a swift kick to the cojones.  I've learned to step back quickly after too many experiences with the latter.  Blue always laughs when I remind him about this.  “That's cause you move too quickly, man.  You've got to wait.”

      This evening though, it's just Carlos, Marcos, and Sofia – and maybe a few other girls.  We meet them under warm street lamps, and things are good.  Marcos pulls some Thai food out of a paper & plastic bag, and we all chow down, except for Blue, since he's allergic to the sauce.  I see Sofia's eyes light up when we make contact, but I'm not interested.  We're sitting against a steaming brick wall with cars driving up and down the street, noise and music and headlights everywhere.  She moves closer – sits right next to me.  More people come over – a few regulars, but I don't feel like selling.  Blue's always in the mood to sell though; he's all business.  Gets the cash and gets the loot, and through everything I hear his voice like a dog barking, making sure everyone gets some.  Making sure the stacks add up, the numbers come even.  She puts a small hand on my hip, starts moving around my shorts. 

      “What are you doing?”  She just looks at me and smiles.  “What do you think I'm doing?” 

     I push her hand away, and offer her some chicken and rice.  A long time ago, I used to feed my old girlfriend mouthfuls of the stuff, using my mad chopstick skills.  I still have them, but I don't play that way anymore.  Sofia knows this, and she tries to encourage me – tries to push it.  Carlos passes around bottles of cheap champagne from the local 7/11, and I know if I take a hit, I'm going to end up doing something I don't want to do.