“And like I said, you need to get ya back knocked. But you don’t hear me comin’ at ya neck all sideways ’n shit.”

“Bitch, I ain’t comin’ at ya neck. I’m tryna get you to see you too damn fly to be birdin’ ya’self out. You gotta good man. Get ya’self a hobby.”

“Newsflash, boo: I gotta hobby. Checkin’ niggas ’n runnin’ they pockets. So instead of puttin’ so much energy into my situation, how ’bout you focus on ya own shit.”

I let out a disgusted grunt. See. You can’t tell a bitch like her nuthin’. She’s too damn hardheaded. A Miss Know It All bitch gotta learn the hard way. Then again, maybe she won’t. She’s been fuckin’ wit’ Divine’s ass for two years and ridin’ down on a few other niggas’ dicks whenever she feels like gettin’ her creep on, and his ass ain’t peeped it yet. Either she done fucked him blind or the nigga just don’t give a fuck ’cause he out there doin’ him, too. Nah, that ain’t his style. That nigga’s big on Chanel’s retarded ass. Like I said, this bitch gotta good-ass man who grinds hard e’ery day; a muhfucka who’d give her anything she wants, but she’d rather be out tryna trick another muhfucka up off’a his paper. Go figure. The last time I got at this ho ’bout doin’ sumthin’ wit’ her life—you know, goin’ to school or gettin’ her ass a job, she flat out told me, “Hustlin’ these niggas is a job. And a bitch like me is gonna always hustle a nigga off his paper.” So since then, I keep my dick sucka shut. Well, most of the time.

“Mmmph, do you, boo-boo. But, trust. When that nigga finally peeps ya game, you do know he’s gonna knock ya whole grill out, right?”

She sucks her teeth. “Bitch, I ain’t call ya ass for no Oprah special. All I wanna know is when you bringin’ ya stankan’ ass home. That’s it. And for the record, there ain’t shit for Divine to peep. All I’m doin’ is lookin’. There’s no harm in that.”

I laugh. “Okay, answer me this: When’s the last time you popped another nigga’s dick in ya mouth?”