“Yo, tell this bitch to step the fuck off before—”

“Before you what, nigga?” I said, cuttin’ him off while reachin’ into my bag to get my shit. Fuck splittin’ his shit with my blade, I was gonna ram my ice pick in his thick gut. If he kept pressin’, it’d be a bullet instead.

Dude stepped in between us, pushin’ his boy back with his forearm. “Yo, nigga, shut ya drunk ass the fuck up. Yo, ma, don’t pay his dumb ass no mind. He’s fucked up.”

I stared the drunk nigga down, then turned my attention to him. “And he’s about to get really fucked up ’cause he done came at the wrong bitch.”

“Yo, y’all take this dumb nigga outta here,” he said to two of his boys. They snatched his ass up real quick and got him the fuck away from me before I put a slug in his skull.

“Don’t no nigga talk slick and think shit’s sweet.”

“I hear you. That was some real foul shit. I apologize for how he came at you, but I’ma check him on it.”

“Yeah, you do that. But, please be clear. If I run into that crab-ass nigga again, he had better be in a position to apologize for how he came at me, otherwise you and the rest of ya crew gonna be goin’ to a funeral.”

“I feel you, ma. So, I guess tryna get ya number is definitely out now?” he asked, flashin’ me a beautiful smile.

“You got that right,” I said, leavin’ him starin’ at my ass.

Oh my God! It was live and poppin’ in Vegas that weekend and every fuckin’ night the strip was filled to capacity with niggas and bitches tryna shine in their wears. Even the white bitches were tryna get it in.