He just grinned.

“Well, it was nice meeting you,” he said, and walked away.

I figured he would do that. Tina came over to me just in time for me to tell her about the clown who had just approached me, but she beat me to the punch.

“How about I’m dancing with the bull, giving him the butt and everything. So we talking and I’m probing him. I asked him what kind of car did he drive. He talking about a Cavalier with twenties and an Alpine stereo-”

“A souped-up Chevy,” I butted in.

“Basically,” Tina continued. “Then I asked him if he had a house. He talking about he’s the man of the house. Guess who the women of the house were!”

“His wife and daughter?” I asked, playing the guessing game with her.

“No! His mom and his grandmom!” Tina said, bursting out into laughter.

“Well, dude I was just talking to plays the flute,” I said.

“Get the fuck outta here,” she said, still laughing.

We figured we would have better luck meeting some real niggas at the All-Star game.

The First Union Center was packed. The parking lots all looked full. Thank God Tina and me rented a stretch Hummer. If we would have drove we would have spent the whole game looking for parking. When we pulled up to the entrance and stepped out the car, all eyes were on us. Bitches were waiting to see some niggas hop out behind us, and when that didn’t happen, they were hatin’. It was written all over their faces. They probably were thinkin’, How them bitches get that by themselves?

Inside, the halls were crowded. People were making their way to their seats. The concession lines were long, and of course posted along the walls were lines of guys and girls, all dressed in their flyest shit. There were furs, diamonds, and designer labels galore.

“Pink Sweat Suit,” a familiar voice called out.

I turned around. It was Tariq. What is he doing here? I thought. This wasn’t his type of crowd. I smiled and walked over to him. Tina followed.