The shirt hung off the shoulders. It was hot. I bought a baby pink Kangol to go with it. Tina ordered the Iverson jersey with the red leather sleeves and the red leather ties on the sides. It was hot too. She paid $349 for that shirt. She bought some Frankie B. jeans from down Charlie’s in Old City and some hot red Miu Miu boots to go with it. That was just for the game, though. We still had to buy outfits for the other parties. I bought a J Lo jeans outfit that had tan ties up the legs and the jacket. Bought tan Chanel boots, a tan knitted Chanel bag, and a tan knitted Chanel hat to match. Hats and things that tied up were hot shit that year. Tina did a winter white leather Dolce & Gabbana miniskirt, a winter white boat-neck sweater, and some winter white D &G knee boots.

The Friday before the game we went to an invite-only in Atlantic City. There were a lot of upscale people there and a few losers who probably worked in the mail room and got the hookup on some invitations. Tina and I almost fainted when we saw Morris Chestnut sitting in a booth. We kept our cool, though. We basically spent that night drinking and mingling. This guy approached me while Tina was dancing with somebody.

“You are beautiful,” he said.

“Thank you,” I responded.

I was trying to be nice even though I already knew I wouldn’t have given him the time of day. He was so corny it was sad. He had on some slacks and a dress shirt. The top button of his shirt was open, revealing a gold herringbone chain. He was wearing what looked like a high school class ring on his pinky finger. And to top things off he had a part in the middle of his low haircut.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Celess,” I answered.

I decided to play with dude a little before taking the knife to his throat.

“What’s yours?” I asked.

“Jared,” he replied.

“What do you do, Jared?”

“I play the flute. What about you?”

“I play men,” I said firmly.