“That’s wassup. I was hopin’ to hop a ride wit’ you. My whip is in the shop ’til Monday, but I wanna get down there to see my fam, feel me? It’s been a minute since I’ve seen ’im, so I wanna go down and holla at the kid. I spoke to ’im earlier today and told him I was gonna holla at you to see if it was aiight. He said it wouldn’t be a problem, but you know I wanted to make sure wit’ you, first, feel me? I got you on all the gas and tolls.”

I take a long swig of water, then swallow hard. Now why the fuck can’t he ride down with one of his boys, or his brother, instead of trying to ride with me? The last thing I want to do is be on a two-and-a-half-hour road trip with Stax. My God, that’s five hours up and back. I mean, damn…what the hell are we supposed to talk about all that time cooped up in a car together? When I take that long ass ride down to Bridgeton in Cumberland County to see Jasper, I like to take it alone. I hook up my iPod, play my beats, and ride that stretch of road like there’s no tomorrow. And if I feel like stopping into AC on my way back to do a little gambling, meeting up with some dick that I’ve set up the night before, or do nothing at all except bring my black ass home—I can. It’s only a damn ride, Pasha; get over yourself. You’re bugging about nothing.

“That’s fine,” I finally say, reluctantly.

“That’s wassup. Which visit you goin’ to?”

Now he should know there’s no way I’d ever go on the first visit. Registration is from eight to ten in the morning which means I’d have to be up and out of the house by six. Not hardly. This diva needs as much sleep as possible. “The second one,” I tell him, getting up from the table, tossing my empty bottle of water into the trash, then turning out the light. I check to make sure the front door is locked, already knowing it is, before setting the alarm, then heading back upstairs to check for any new emails. “Since registration starts at twelve, I’d like to be on the road no later than nine-thirty.”