I decide to take a cable car ride. Sumthin’ I’ve never done. Probably ’cause any time I’m downtown over on Powell or Hyde Streets, the muthafuckin’ lines are long as hell. And a bitch ain’t beat to be standin’ in heels waitin’ to be on some damn trolley. But, today…the lines aren’t bad. Probably ’cause I hop on at California Street line at Van Ness. So I dare to be adventurous. Yes, this is what a bitch’s social life has come to, shoppin’ and sightseein’. I find myself laughin’ to myself as we go through the financial district. Ugh! Borrrrrrin’!

By the time we make it to Chinatown, a bitch is ready to hop the fuck off’a this contraption. I’ve had enough of this shit, I think, glancin’ at my timepiece.

WHILE I’M SITTIN’ UP ON THIS TROLLEY, MY THOUGHTS DRIFT TO Grant—again. I try to blink the nigga’s face outta my head. Usually I can. But, right now—for some reason, I can’t. I ain’t gonna sit here ’n front wit’ ya asses. That nigga Grant haunted me. His eyes were filled with hate when he asked me if I was gonna smoke him, too. I had’a look that nigga dead in his grill, knowin’ I was gonna slump ’im. And it made me so fuckin’ sick to my stomach. And for the first time in my life, regret did creep up on me. But I had’a shake that shit off. I had’a remind myself that there was no muthafuckin’ time for it. I had’a remember my rule. I had’a repeat that shit in my head a thousand times before I raised my gun and aimed it at him.

“It’s what I do,” I had’a tell him, shiftin’ my eyes from his hurtful stare. The nigga had love and hate all wrapped up in his eyes. They were pleadin’ with me. Even though he knew I was gonna blast him, he didn’t blink.