“…That’s some real foul shit, nigga, for you to disrespect me like that,” she continues as she puts on the rest of her shit. “But, not to worry, muhfucka, I ain’t hard-pressed for no nigga, or his dick, especially yours. Trust me.”

I laugh at her ass. “Mighty funny ya ass is always blowin’ up my line talkin’ ’bout how much you need this dick, how much you love this dick, how much you don’t wanna stop gettin’ this dick. But now you ain’t pressed. Yeah, okay. That’s what ya mouth says.”

“Fuck you!” she yells, swingin’ open the bedroom door, and stormin’ down the stairs. I follow behind her, holdin’ my breath, hopin’ like hell Pops ain’t here to hear this shit. That’s all I need right now. “You ain’t shit, nigga, for real.” She gets to the front door, swings it open, then stops before walkin’ out. She turns to face me. “I shoulda shitted in ya motherfuckin’ mouth.”

“Ho, get ya stankin’ bum-ass on up outta here.”

She gives me the finger. “Fuck you, nigga! I’ve been thrown outta better places.” She storms out, leavin’ the front door wide open.

I walk over and shut the door, lockin’ it. Then stand in the middle of the livin’ room for a minute, listenin’ to see if I hear Pops stirrin’ ’round up in this piece. I can’t front, a nigga’s relieved that it’s quiet. Pops done warned me hundreds of times ’bout bringin’ this kinda shit up in his spot, and the last thing I need is for him to walk in on it. Dude would be up in here snappin’ for sure. Nigga, you know you shoulda handled that bitch better than that, I think, headin’ back up the stairs to slip on some sweats and a T-shirt. What if she woulda started bustin’ shit up in here? How the fuck would you ’splain that?

I take the steps two at a time, goin’ upstairs to the bathroom. I brush my teeth and tongue, starin’ into the mirror. Even after I’ve scrubbed my gums ’n shit, I still taste her rotten ass in my mouth.